


Feeling Seen

by jadztone



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ballet Dancer Sherlock Holmes, Bottom John Watson, Demisexuality, Experienced Sherlock Holmes, Friends to Lovers, Irene is an Instagram choreographer, M/M, POV John Watson, Past unrequited love, Rugby Captain John Watson, Slow Burn, Top Sherlock, Virgin John Watson, background Greg/Sally, do not copy to another site, lesbians in a supporting role, minor Irene/Molly, toplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23345788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadztone/pseuds/jadztone
Summary: Rugby player John is starting over at a new university, with the help of friends Molly and Bill. Few people know that John is demisexual, but ballet dancer Sherlock Holmes deduces right away that he has no interest in sex unless he’s fallen in love. John finds this strange genius intriguing and would like to get to know him, but Sherlock has a self-cultivated reputation for only wanting casual sex.  John has reason to believe that’s not really true, but he’s not sure he wants to risk his twice-fractured heart to find out.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 88
Kudos: 313





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was beta'd by the lovely Lediona.
> 
> The general plot of the story is inspired by Bottomjohns who tweeted “Confident strong balletlock who has fucked all the rugby team x shy rugby captain John Watson who is the only one still a virgin in that team.” I usually love the popular version of balletlock, so I saw this as a challenge, diving into what makes these versions of John and Sherlock tick.  
> https://twitter.com/bottomjohns1/status/1129319330754322432
> 
> The two universities mentioned are fictional.

Visual aids for this chapter:

<https://venvephe.tumblr.com/post/93363278881/dance-the-balance-between-body-and-mind>

<https://anotherwellkeptsecret.tumblr.com/post/129512131699/pencil-lineart-commission-for-punklock-thank-you>

The whole Instagram video subplot spiraled out of this video:

<https://lovelyballetandmore.tumblr.com/post/187220918836/conor-mckenzie>

John approached the door to the flat, his fingers rhythmically curling into a fist and then uncurling as he attempted to calm himself. He honestly didn’t understand why he was feeling trepidation. This was Molly, his best friend from secondary school. They’ve been keeping in frequent touch the past two years he was in Edinburgh, though admittedly it was a different sort of closeness than what existed when they saw each other every day. 

He supposed he was concerned about how they’d changed. Because of course they had. It was inevitable when moving on to a new phase of life. New location, new home, new friends, new everything. Would they still be able to connect as they had?

John figured it was a good thing they never got together romantically as he once hoped they would. Their parting would have been much harder. It was difficult enough as it was. They hadn’t grown up together, Molly’s family moved to Manchester when she was 14. But the four years of friendship before they went their separate ways had been the most meaningful of John’s life. 

He’d always had friends, always been sociable, but no one ever seemed interested in _really_ knowing him like Molly had. She had a way of seeing right through to the heart of things – she was like that with everyone. Even after he confessed his feelings for her and she gently explained that she didn’t like boys that way, they didn’t stay awkward around each other for long. They were able to settle back into their friendship and it remained that way until graduation. They parted on very good terms when they went off to university - Molly to London and John to Edinburgh.

But now John was in London, too, and hoping that he could rely on Molly’s friendship to ease the way as he started all over again at a new university. If they’ve both changed more significantly than their social media banter indicated, it might not go that smoothly. Especially since they were about to share a flat. Molly had been looking for someone since her flatmate left to move in with her boyfriend, so the timing was perfect. 

John shook his head to stop the woolgathering and rang the buzzer. Less than a minute later, Molly flung open the door and launched herself into John’s arms. “John!! I’m so happy you’re here!! Oh, I’ve missed you so much. Come in, come in!”

Molly looked happy. More than happy…radiant. And he knew it wasn’t due to him. She’s been seeing someone a few months now. A girl named Irene, and it seemed to be pretty serious. They apparently met at a summer ballet intensive course. Based on the snapchat pics of her gazing adoringly at the other girl, Molly was head over heels. Even now, she was tugging John towards the sitting room where Irene was lounging on the sofa. Molly’s girlfriend was even more beautiful in person, and her gaze was intense as she stood to shake John’s hand. 

“John, this is Irene. I hope you don’t mind that she’s here, she…um…offered to help unload stuff from your car.”

Irene gave Molly an incredulous look. “I did not! I said that I simply _had_ to come and see the infamous John Watson in person.”

Molly gave her a quelling look. “Yes, and if you’re going to ogle John like he’s in a zoo, the least you can do is help him move in.” Irene looked away in a huff and Molly giggled. “Come on, let’s get that over with now, so John can find a more permanent spot for his car. Last thing he needs his first day here is to get a ticket.”

Irene’s smile was catlike. “Especially since he’s the only one we know who _does_ have a car, and we’ll want to make use of it frequently.” 

They headed down the stairs and made their way over to the bland-looking estate car. Irene raised an eyebrow at it. John supposed it didn’t look like the typical car a uni student would have. Especially not in London. “Erm…it was the family car. Mum gave it to me when I graduated and then bought herself something sporty. I was thinking about selling it now that I’m here.”

Irene eyed the car eagerly. “Don’t you dare! This will come in quite handy. Imagine not having to lug our equipment on the tube.” Molly elbowed her and she arranged her features to appear less grasping. “And of course you wouldn’t want to get rid of something that was a gift from your mother. Think of all the memories soaked into the very upholstery.”

John barked out a laugh at Irene implying it was some sort of memento from youth. “Oh, I’m sure my mum would remember in detail every stain caused by my sister and I.”

It didn’t take long to unload John’s car. He didn’t have much, being used to living in student accommodations the past two years when he was at Loudain University. He did bring a few extra things like cooking utensils and dinnerware, to replace what Molly’s flatmate took when she left. When mum sold the house over the summer to go live with her new boyfriend, she let he and Harry fight over what they wanted. Harry cheerfully let him take the kitchen stuff since she never did like to cook. It was something that John had more in common with his late father. He found it to be a relaxing pastime, and missed it at Loudain when all he had in his room was a hot pot and kettle.

Once everything was inside, John went to find a spot for his car, which took quite awhile. When he came back, Molly and Irene were on the sofa, giggling at something on a mobile screen. Irene looked smug, and Molly had her hand over her mouth. He could hear that song by Lizzo playing.

Irene looked up from the mobile. “Don’t mind us, I was showing Molly some of the comments on my latest video.”

John’s eyebrows went up as he went over to the chair opposite, repositioning the union jack pillow before flopping down into it. “What kind of video?”

Irene turned to Molly and gave her a reproachful look. “You haven’t told John about my Instagram? You know I’m trying to get more followers.”

Molly grimaced. “It’s not exactly John’s cup of tea.”

Irene huffed. “Molly, I need the word to get out. This isn’t just a hobby, it’s my future profession.” She turned to John. “Would you please do me the favour of following my Instagram? It’s @thewhiphand. And if you wouldn’t mind, please like all my videos.”

John pulled out his mobile and looked up her username. Clicking on her profile, he saw that she was calling herself a Choreography Dominatrix and her tagline was ‘I like to order people.’ About half a dozen videos were posted, the thumbnails indicating various people dancing. He tapped on the latest one, which featured a rather gorgeous man with tousled black curls in nothing but dark purple tights dancing to Lizzo’s ‘Truth Hurts.’ The caption read, ‘Why men great til they gotta be great? @thescienceofdeduction.’ John assumed it was the dancer’s profile, though it was an odd sort of username for a ballet dancer. John resisted the urge to click on the profile out of curiosity, and watched the video instead, impressed by the man’s talent. His features were haughty, but every so often he’d smirk at the camera, usually during one of Lizzo’s more cheeky lyrics. The choreography was an interesting combination of ballet and twerking. John imagined Irene’s intent was to showcase the man’s amazing arse. John found himself watching the video a couple of times. 

He finally looked up from the screen to see that Irene and Molly were regarding him with amusement. Irene asked in a dry voice, “Well, what do you think?” 

John cleared his throat. “He’s uh…very flexible.” Molly giggled. Irene just continued to stare at him. He realised she must have meant the choreography. “It’s definitely good. I wouldn’t have thought to pair Lizzo with ballet, but you really made it work.”

Irene gave him a pleased smile. “It was Lizzo’s idea, she tweeted a request for a ballet routine to ‘Truth Hurts,’ and I knew my moment had come. It’s getting a lot of attention since I responded to her tweet with the link to the video. Of course, Sherlock’s been getting a lot of attention as well, and he’s quite irritated by it. That’s what we were laughing about when you came in, he’s been responding to some of the comments.”

John looked down at his mobile. “That’s his name? Sherlock?” He tapped on the comments and scrolled through a few. He was appalled to see some homophobic remarks, but Sherlock’s responses were hilarious. To one of them he said their comment lowered the IQ of everyone on the app. 

“Yes, Sherlock Holmes. He was in the same ballet course where Molly and I met. He and Molly and another dancer, Sally Donovan, are quite gracious to participate in my videos. It’s been a lot of fun, but as I said, it’s more than just fun for me. I want to be a choreographer.”

John went back to her profile and tapped on the follow button. “There, following you now. And I’ll pass it on to the folks I know. Perhaps the other rugby players once I get to know them.”

Irene waved her hand. “Oh, they’re already following me. Sally’s dating Greg Lestrade, and Sherlock’s slept with practically everyone else.”

John blinked. “Sorry, what?”

Irene smirked. “Sherlock likes athletes, and he especially likes rugby players. I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.” 

Molly made a sound of protest and Irene’s forehead wrinkled as she looked at her. “Didn’t you say that John’s bi? Then it’s not a problem. Sherlock will be quite pleased to find out the team has a new member. Fresh blood.” Her smile turned feral.

Molly huffed, her cheeks turning pink. “Irene! I _told_ you…” She blushed harder, and John realised she must have told Irene a lot more than just his bisexuality.

Irene’s expression cleared. “Ohhh, right. I forgot. John’s a virgin.”

It was John’s turn to flush red. “Molly!!”

She gave him a sheepish look. “Sorry! We were talking about demisexuality a few weeks ago and I used you as an example. I didn’t say you were a virgin, she figured it out.”

Irene shrugged. “Easy enough to piece together. Molly told me once that other than the occasional dating, you’ve never been in a relationship, and then when she said you were a demi, it seemed natural to conclude that means you’re a virgin.”

John sniffed in irritation. “Demis _can_ have casual sex, they just don’t generally want to. But in my case, you are correct. I haven’t had sex yet.”

He was relieved to see that Irene’s expression was curious, not judging. “So, you haven’t felt sexual attraction for _anyone_?”

John looked over at Molly. She was giving Irene a confused look. Irene glanced at her. “I haven’t forgot what you told me. I know that he was attracted to _you_ when you were at school together. But we’re not going to talk about that. Ever.” She turned back to John. “I guess what I should have asked was, were you ever attracted to anyone _else_?”

If she didn’t know the answer to that, then Molly hadn’t told her everything, and for that he was grateful. “There was one other person. A bloke at Loudain. But…um…that didn’t work out.” He cleared his throat, his expression grim. Molly bit her lip, her eyes full of compassion. She knew all about James Sholto, and John’s humiliating attempt to get with him. 

John could see in Irene’s eyes that she wanted him to elaborate on his answer, but Molly was squeezing her wrist. She took a different tack. “Would it be too personal to ask about being demisexual? I know the definition of it, but I’d love to understand it better. Human sexuality is a fascinating subject to me.”

John shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, I can tell you what it’s like for me. Not all demis are the same, though, from what I’ve read. What do you want to know?”

Irene looked thoughtful. “Well, for one thing, I noticed you watching at that video more than once. Quite intently. Are you telling me you didn’t feel sexual attraction for Sherlock?”

John grinned. “Just so you know, I watched it twice because it was a great performance, he’s very talented and you’re a great choreographer. But to answer your question…I can appreciate someone’s body as aesthetically pleasing, I just don’t have sexual thoughts of what I’d want to do with that body.”

Irene tilted her head. “But developing feelings for someone changes that? Like a switch gets flipped or something?”

John wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I suppose. Something I read once that really resonated with me, it was a theory about primary and secondary attraction. When you met Molly, you were attracted to her right away, yeah?”

Irene gave Molly a smouldering look. “God, I wanted to take her to bed that very night.”

John nodded. “Right, that’s primary attraction. It’s based on whatever physical characteristics appeal to you. Now, after you got to know Molly, started falling for her, would you say that your attraction to her increased?”

Irene nodded emphatically. “Absolutely. I can’t get enough of her now. Everyone else just fades into the background.”

John smiled. “And that’s secondary attraction. It’s fueled by your feelings for Molly. Now, in the case of demisexuals, we generally don’t feel the primary attraction. Some girl I meet might as well be a sister for all the notice I take of her body. But once I feel a connection to her, that’s when I begin to start fixating on the curve of her neck, the soft rosy lips…” Irene cleared her throat loudly. “…his strong jawline, the way his bicep flexes when he reaches up to write something on the blackboard…” John silently cursed when he realised what he said.

“Holy shit! You fell for one of your instructors?!?!” Irene gave him a look of shocked delight.

John considered pretending Sholto had been a teaching assistant, but Irene was too shrewd. “I don’t want to talk about it, Irene. We were discussing demisexuality. Did you have any other questions?”

Irene huffed at being thwarted. “Actually, I was curious how you came to realise you were demi.”

John fiddled with the tip of the pillow. “I wondered for the longest time if there was something wrong with me. I never seemed to react to girls, or boys, the way my mates did. When I was 15 I started dating this girl, Mary. She was pretty, vivacious, and totally into me. After our third date, she wanted me to take her to bed, said she was gagging to lose her virginity. I didn’t really want to, I kept thinking to myself that I still barely knew this girl. But I couldn’t figure out how to get out of it without hurting her feelings.” 

John rubbed the back of his neck. “It was probably the most humiliating experience of my life. We got into her bedroom and started making out, and I couldn’t get it up. I felt really uncomfortable. She was all over me and all I wanted to do was push her away. She finally asked me if I was gay, and I feel like I should have lied and told her I was. I told her no, I don’t want to have sex with boys either. She concluded I was asexual and pretended to understand, but she dumped me pretty quickly after that. I heard she achieved her all important goal not even a week later with some bloke named David.

John shook his head. “I figured she was right, I was asexual. And then um…” He cleared his throat. ‘Molly came along and we became friends…” 

Irene held up her hand. “Nope, I’ve heard it from Molly, fast forward through that. Did you realise you were demi then? Or did it take it happening a second time?”

John chuckled at Irene’s overt possessiveness. “I did sort of start to think I was demi after what happened with Molly, but I couldn’t be sure. It might have been an isolated incident, like maybe I was greysexual. As you can see, I did a lot of research. I knew for sure I was demi after…after James. And as I said, we’re not talking about _him_.”

Irene made a frustrated sound, but chose instead to get even more personal. “Do you get yourself off?” John nodded, chuckling. “How do you get in the mood for it? Does porn do anything for you?”

John shrugged. “I have a fairly active libido, so I wank when the urge strikes. And yes I can get off to porn. I do notice that…” He blushed and bit his lip. “…well, I usually prefer to watch stuff where it looks intimate, and they’re really into each other. I don’t like the ones with acrobatic positions and weird angles, it makes it too obvious they’re putting on a show. I like it when it looks like…um…a couple.” He cleared his throat. “Uh…any more questions?” He sincerely hoped not, he felt as red as a ripe tomato.

Irene shook her head. “No… I think I understand it a lot better now. Thank you for answering my questions.” She gave him a contemplative look. “I wonder…will Sherlock be able to deduce that you’re demi?”

John frowns. “What do you mean, ‘deduce?’” He recalled the username, @thescienceofdeduction, and wondered if that was what she meant. 

Irene gave him a catlike smile. “It’s the way he hooks all his conquests. When he meets someone he’s interested in taking to bed, he deduces their sexuality.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Oookay. Everyone needs a hobby, I guess.”

Irene snorted. “He likes to say he’s just cutting through the bullshit. Anyone higher than a zero on the Kinsey scale wants to have sex with him, so it’s pointless to beat around the bush with polite talk and figuring out preferences and interest.”

John blinked. “Wow…that’s pretty arrogant to assume they all want him.”

Irene chuckled. “It would be, but he’s been right _every single time_. Which is why I am dying to see what happens with you. I’m sure he’ll be able to tell you’re bisexual right away. But will he figure out the rest?” Her lips curved into a smirk. “I love Sherlock, but I would _so_ enjoy seeing his face when you turn him down.”

Molly scowled at Irene. “I do wish you’d stop treating Sherlock’s behaviour like it’s some sort of party trick. It’s not a game.”

Irene rolled her eyes. “It is to Sherlock. He literally says, ‘The game is on!’ when he sees an attractive bloke.” Molly huffed and folded her arms. “Come on, don’t be a prude. Sherlock’s just enjoying life to the fullest.”

Molly grimaced. “Is he, though? I wouldn’t care if he slept with half the university if that was what he _really_ wanted, but I don’t think it is. And parading John in front of him like a prize to be snatched away, it’s not funny.” She turned away, her expression vexed. 

Irene’s playful expression melted and she sighed. “I’m sorry I upset you, Molly. But you know Sherlock, he says he’s married to his work. And I’ll hardly need to orchestrate their meeting. Sooner or later Sherlock will come looking for John. I can’t help it if I want to have a front row seat to it happening.”

*

John settled down into his new bed, enjoying the feel of the fresh sheets. First night in his new home. He heard his mobile chime and saw it was a notification from Instagram. His mate Bill Murray replied to his comment on Bill’s post, which was a picture of rugby gear that had the caption, ‘Get ready.’ Their first team training was tomorrow, and John was definitely ready for a fresh start. 

Bill was the one who told John about scholarship opportunities if he transferred to Knight’s College and it had felt like Bill was saving his life. John had already decided to switch his major to medicine, and really wanted to switch universities as well, but he wasn’t sure if he was overreacting. He hadn’t been happy at Loudain. He never really made friends, and didn’t click well with his rugby mates. 

When he confessed all this to his old friend from secondary school, Bill tempted him with stories of the rugby team at Knight’s and lured him in with the scholarship. Since Molly also went to Knight’s, he called her up and quizzed her on the academics, knowing she was also studying medicine with a goal towards pathology. She had lots of good things to say, and just hearing her voice he’d known right then that he had to go for it. 

John read Bill’s instagram reply, and sent out a ribald response. Then he recalled that he was curious about Sherlock Holmes’ profile. He tapped on Irene’s account and went down to the most recent video, then tapped on the link to Sherlock’s account. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see in Sherlock’s gallery, but it certainly hadn’t been the odd assortment of ballet, chemistry, classical music, and forensic stuff. 

One of the more recent images was a screenshot of an article about a murder case. He said in the caption that it was obvious the brother was the killer, noting the mention of a shed and a missing ladder, and that NSY should have figured it out if they weren’t filled with idiots. There was a response from @greglestrade telling him to piss off, and he was sure NSY was doing a brilliant job. Sherlock responded, “Unlikely, Gerald. I hope when you join the Met, they become slightly less idiotic.” @greglestrade responded, “ffs my name is Greg it’s right there in the profile!” John started giggling hysterically as @sallybobally replied to him that he shouldn’t take the bait, and @greglestrade replied “you’re one to talk, you let him wind you up all the time.” Sherlock then told them to go have their domestic somewhere else and quit cluttering up his Instagram. John was doubled over in laughter when he finished reading.

John found similarly hilarious exchanges on many of the pictures. And some of the stuff on chemistry and forensics were pretty fascinating. He thought about hitting the follow button on Sherlock’s account, but if what Irene said was true, it was better not to draw attention to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

John followed Bill into the changing room, a bit nervous of the crowd of men milling about. He smiled and nodded as Bill introduced him to the other rugby players. He smiled a little wider when he was introduced to Greg Lestrade, now able to put a face to an Instagram name. He seemed like an affable sort.

As everyone was putting on their training gear, Greg’s mobile chimed and he checked it. Smiling, he tapped the screen a few times, and John heard the beginning of ‘Old Town Road.’ 

It was one of his favourite songs, so he sidled over and looked down at Greg’s mobile. It was Irene’s Instagram, and he could see Sally dancing in jeggings, a flannel shirt, and cowboy hat. “Oh, it’s Sally. Good choice for that song.”

Greg scowled at him. “You know Sally?”

John’s eyebrows went up. “I know _of_ her. But only because I follow Irene’s account.”

Greg’s jaw set. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but she’s _my_ girlfriend.”

John looked at him in surprise, and then folded his arms. “Yeah, Irene mentioned that, so you think you can back off the caveman routine? Is there something about ballet dancers that makes people territorial? Irene was the same way about Molly.” His insides roiled at the possibility he’s already blown it with a teammate, but he wasn’t going to put up with bullshit.

Greg’s expression melted into sheepishness. “Sorry, Watson. I know I need to reign it in.” He sighed and shook his head. “My last girlfriend cheated on me, and I don’t always handle it well.” John was startled by the about face, but he listened carefully. Greg went on, “I don’t take my issues out on Sally, she doesn’t deserve that. But I do get a bit wound up when I see other blokes sniffing after her.”

John kept a straight face as collectively everyone in the room looked over at Anderson, the tall gangly player in the corner. His jaw dropped open. “What? I’m not _sniffing after_ her! I just like talking to her, is all. We have a lot in common.”

Greg glared. “It’s a bit more than talking. Saturday night you were standing close to her, touching her, gave her a hug on three separate occasions. She was trying to be polite, but it was getting weird.”

Anderson turned brick red. “Look, I-I didn’t know about your cheating ex. I can see that would be upsetting to you. I’ll keep my distance from now on. The last thing I want is for there to be bad blood with a teammate. So, I apologise.”

Greg grumbled, “Yeah, alright.”

John shook his head. “No, I think the one you need to apologise to is Sally. She’s the one who was getting unwanted attention.”

Anderson looked like he wanted to protest, but at John’s glare, he backed down. “Fine, I’ll apologise to Sally.” He glowered at John. “Who died and put you in charge, anyway?”

Mike Stamford piped up. “I’m still alive and well, thanks, but I wouldn’t mind passing the torch to John. The only reason you lot voted me Captain last year is because you thought I’d be a pushover. And you were right.” 

Everyone laughed. Bill piped up, “John was Captain when we were at school. He was brilliant, kept us all in line and it showed on the pitch.”

Mike smiled and stood up to address the whole room. “Hey you lot, listen up! It’s a new season, and now is as good a time as any to vote a new Captain. I nominate John Watson. All in favour?” The room erupted in enthusiastic ayes.

John stared around in disbelief. “It’s just the first training session! You haven’t even seen me play!”

A bloke called Dimmock slapped Bill on the back. “He has. And we trust his judgement.” Bill beamed at him.

John cleared his throat of the lump he felt swelling and tried not to think about how different it was here from Loudain. He could only hope he lived up to his new rep.

*

John felt a swelling of a different variety several weeks later as he rolled his shoulder in an attempt to ease the throbbing. He got quite a knock in the first half, but he barely cared. They were winning. It wasn’t by much, but he’d always been able to tell by halftime which way the match would go. It was absolutely theirs to win.

He was feeling very gratified by how things are going with this team compared to the one at Loudain. He felt much more of a connection with these blokes. A part of it was the fact that they all decided to make him captain and then showed him the respect the title deserved. At Loudain, he was treated with great disdain for both his stature and his novice status, and it never sat well with him. He worked hard, and that never seemed to count for anything with them.

The Knight’s lads were a lot more amiable. Despite their initial misunderstanding, he and Greg Lestrade got on very well. Lestrade was one of the older players and he seemed to be the father figure of the group. John also ended up spending a lot of time with Mike Stamford, who was studying medicine as well. Bill Murray could always be counted on to take the mick out of him if his head was swelling too much in his role as Captain, but also had a go at anyone who mouthed off at John. 

John took a few swigs of water and scanned the crowd for Molly and Irene. He spotted them in the third row. Sally was sat next to Molly, and on Irene’s other side could only be Sherlock Holmes. So, the whole crew was in attendance tonight - Irene and her minions. John felt gratified that they’d shown up. Molly told him that she and Irene were only there for his sake, as they didn’t take much interest in sports. Sally was of course there for Greg. Based on the ribald chatter in the changing room, John could only guess why Holmes showed up to the match. 

John took another swig of water, and then looked over at the ballet crew again. Sherlock Holmes was staring right at him. John found himself flushing for some odd reason and he looked away. Christ, was he actually flattered that he had the man’s attention? He shouldn’t be. The interest was only sexual, and it wasn’t even a personal interest. From what he’d heard, Sherlock liked fit rugby players, and that was as deep as it went. Had nothing to do with John at all.

But there was certainly something about having Sherlock’s hawk-like gaze on him. Based on his Instagram posts and the stories told about him, it was apparent he was frightfully intelligent and observant. John could only guess what the man could read from him, and for some reason he found the idea intriguing instead of off-putting.

He turned to his teammates. “Alright you lot, let’s get this sewn up. First match of the season, and first match for me at Knight’s. Don’t embarrass me, yeah?”

Bill clapped him on the back. “We’re gonna score big on the field, and then later you’re gonna score even bigger. I saw Holmes out there watching you. Tonight’s the night, Captain.”

The other players laughed uproariously, and more than a few looked envious. John shook his head and laughed. “Did you just make a scoring joke? We’re not bloody sixteen anymore, come up with something original. And whilst you’re at it, you all worry about your own cocks. _After_ the match.”

*

John felt a little on edge when he showed up to Lestrade’s flat. He wasn’t much of a partier, he tended to prefer smaller casual get-togethers. Most of the time parties devolved into a hunting ground, with people hoping to find someone to hook up with before the night ended. John enjoyed chatting and drinking and even dancing. Not so much the drunken come-ons. Often they would get confused that he was turning them down, since he was a bloke and must therefore always be up for a shag. There was more than one party at Loudain that ended on a sour note.

John felt himself grow even more tense when he saw Sherlock Holmes standing in a corner talking to Dimmock, who was looking up at the dancer with something akin to hero worship. John couldn’t blame him, Holmes was astonishingly good looking. He was wearing a midnight blue button-down shirt with black jeans. The buttons looked like they were straining to stay in place and the jeans moulded to his every curve. John had no idea if this was his usual look or if he was on the pull, and he didn’t want to find out. He headed in the opposite direction, hoping to find Molly in the crowd. She was the one person who knew everything about him and therefore the only one he would feel at ease with tonight. 

After procuring a beer, John eventually found Molly with Irene, who was holding court on the sofa. He tucked himself in next to Molly, and she smiled up at him, squeezing his knee. He felt immediately better, and settled in to have a few drinks and listen to Irene’s stories.

A few times John had to get up to go fetch another drink, and he’d end up talking for a bit to Mike or a couple of folks he knew from lectures. But he always came back to the sofa. He was starting to feel looser and more relaxed, and so wasn’t on his guard when he encountered Bill and Anderson, who were both roaring drunk and immediately steered him away from the sofa. 

Before he knew it, he found himself standing in front of Sherlock Holmes. Hiccuping, Anderson slurred, “Look Sherlock, meet our brand new captain… John Watson!” They thrust him forward and he felt his cheeks grow hot.

Sherlock’s eyes flicked over John before levelling an incredulous look at Anderson. “Good lord, you’re offering him up like a virginal sacrifice.” John couldn’t help a tiny flinch at the word _virginal_. 

Anderson sneered. “Oh come on, I thought you’d appreciate some fresh meat.” He snorted with laughter and John jerked away from the hand still on his shoulder, debating whether to punch Anderson in his stupid face or storm off.

Sherlock’s lips curled. “I’m not some bloody beast that needs slaking, Anderson. Do us all a favour and have another gin and tonic so you pass out.” He turned to John, and once more his eyes flicked up and down. He seemed contemplative for a moment before finally looking John in the eyes, his features and tone of voice perfectly bland as he said, “Welcome to Knight’s, Captain Watson. If you’ll excuse me.” 

John watched in bewilderment as Sherlock walked across the room to Lestrade and whispered in his ear. Greg looked disappointed, but then gave him a slap on the back. The dancer raised one eyebrow, then went over to the front door. He grabbed his coat off the rack and put it on with a dramatic flourish, walking out of the flat without once looking back. 

“What just happened? Goddamnit, don’t tell me I missed the whole thing!” John turned to see Irene regarding him eagerly as Molly stared at the door wide-eyed. Irene grabbed his arm and shook it. “Well? Did he deduce you?”

John sighed. “No, Irene. He seemed too irritated with Anderson, who was being a drunken arse. He just welcomed me to the school and then left.”

Molly goggled. “He didn’t invite himself to your room?” John shook his head. “Did he leave with someone else?” John shook his head again. 

Bill slung his arm around John. “I don’t get it. Usually with new guys he’s like a fox in a hen house. D’you think maybe he thought you were straight? He’s never got it wrong before. Not even with Dimmock, who kept insisting to everyone at the party that he was straight. But Sherlock had him arse up by the end of the night, begging for it. At least, that’s what Dimmock said the next day. Confessed he’d been in the closet for years.”

John pushed Bill’s arm away, feeling a wave of irritation. “This is utterly ridiculous. Holmes is not a fox and I’m not a bloody hen. We’re two adults capable of negotiating consent. He saw I wasn’t interested, and he left me alone. That’s all there is to it.”

Bill stared at him. “How are you not interested? He’s a fucking Adonis. And you’ve heard the stories of what he’s like in bed.”

John pinched his nose. Of course he heard, no bloody avoiding it at rugby training. He supposed he couldn’t blame Bill’s confusion. He knew John was bisexual, but not any of the rest. “Look, I’m gonna head home. I’m starting to feel that hit I took at the match.” He rolled his shoulder for emphasis.

Sparing Molly only the briefest of glances, John stalked over to grab his jacket and then headed out the door before anyone could say another word. What a nightmare. He would have honestly preferred fending off the usual advances, because most of the time everyone else at the party was oblivious. In this case, he wasn’t even propositioned, but now the whole fucking team was going to know what went down and have questions about it. 

John knew he should feel relieved that Holmes backed off, but a part of him felt frustrated. He didn’t want to sleep with the guy, but it would have been nice to get to know him a bit. His Instagram really was fascinating.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more inspiration: https://scullyseviltwin.tumblr.com/post/189968145098/the-pastel-peach-life-sucks-but-balletrugby

A couple weeks later, John was starting to get behind in his chemistry course due to how many hours he was putting in for rugby. He talked to the lecturer, who gave him permission to access the labs late at night. He was pretty tired after a long day of courses and rugby training, but pleased at the chance to finally make up some of his practical assignments. 

When John entered the building and keyed in the code to enter the lab, he was startled to find it already occupied. Even more disconcerting was when the other person turned his way and he saw that it was Sherlock Holmes. “Oh! Hello.”

Holmes narrowed his eyes for a moment, then his expression cleared. “You’re behind in your labs due to all the rugby. Dr. Stevens gave you the code so you could catch up. He used to play rugby when he was at school, so he’s feeling indulgent.” 

John huffed out a laugh as he came further into the room. “Yes, that’s exactly it. You really are good at that. Deducing people.” He blushed, not wanting to bring up the sexuality ‘party trick.’ “I’ve seen it on your Instagram. You seem to be able to figure people out pretty easily.” 

Holmes shrugged. “That’s because it is easy. I just look at what they post on their own profiles. They make their lives an open book.” His gaze sharpened. “You’ve been looking at my Instagram?”

John blushed. “Well, I follow Irene because she threatened me with bodily harm if I didn’t.” The other man chuckled in that deep throaty tone of his. It was contagious, and John laughed as well, easing a bit. “Whenever I see you making snarky comments I usually end up on your profile to peruse a bit. I like the chemistry and forensics stuff.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “That’s _all_ you like about it?”

John huffed out a laugh, wondering if he was fishing for compliments on his dancing. “The violin video clips…those are rather good, too.”

Sherlock gave him a knowing look. “If all that you say is true, why aren’t you following me? Or liking any of my posts?”

John found himself blushing again, not sure how to respond. “I…uh…didn’t want to…uh…”

“You didn’t want to encourage me.” Sherlock’s expression was now taunting and he leaned forward with his arms on the table. “You thought if you followed me on Instagram, I would interpret it as a more personal interest.” John looked away, feeling exposed and annoyed because he had every right to protect himself from unwanted attention. 

Sherlock seemed to read his mind, because he continued. “I told you I’m not some great beast. I have no interest in making conquests. I find the idea of persuading someone to sleep with me tedious. Especially if they’re an idiot, which most people are.”

John cleared his throat. “So you were able to deduce in my case that I wasn’t interested in sex with you. And that’s why you left me alone?”

Sherlock drew himself up. “Of course. You do find me attractive, I could tell by the way you kept looking at me at the party and by your blatant lie regarding your interest in my Instagram. But you’re not interested in having sex with me. Not for moral reasons, your other behaviours indicate a rejection of your Catholic upbringing. More likely you’re demisexual and you don’t feel sexual interest in strangers.” He raised his eyebrows and John nodded. 

Sherlock went on, “You know you’re demi and not asexual because you did at some point develop a sexual attraction to someone.” He narrowed his eyes. “On _two_ separate occasions.”

John’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”

“Because one was a man and the other was a woman. It confirmed your suspicion that you’re bisexual. In both cases you were turned down.”

John huffed. “How could you _possibly_ know about that? Did Molly tell you?”

Sherlock shook his head, smirking a little. “Shot in the dark. Good one, though. I could tell by the way you reacted to my remark about virginal sacrifices. It’s a sensitive subject for you, which means you still haven’t had sex.”

John cleared his throat again, feeling dazed. “That’s…amazing. It’s extraordinary. You’re really quite brilliant.”

Sherlock blinked several times, and to John’s astonishment, his cheeks went red. “That’s…not what people usually say.”

John gave him a quizzical look. “What do they usually say?”

Sherlock’s smile was rueful. “Shut up and fuck me.”

They both laughed, but something about it didn’t sit right with John. Sherlock’s flippancy seemed forced. John gave him an assessing look. “As brilliant as that was, you have to admit it’s a bit not good for you to expose other people’s secrets without reciprocating.”

Sherlock’s smile was sardonic. “Yes, well, no one ever wants to know mine. By all means, feel free to deduce me as much as you like.”

John rolled his eyes. “You know I couldn’t possibly do as good a job. I’ll take a stab at it, though. Your little joke just now… I can imagine that most of the blokes you sleep with probably don’t appreciate your intellect, especially when you’re so sharp with it. And I also think you don’t really care, you’re only interested in sex with them. But…perhaps at some point there was someone whose opinion did matter? Perhaps early on in your experience?” Sherlock looked away. John folded his arms and gave him a patient look. “Come on, Holmes. It’s only fair. One bared soul for another.”

Sherlock huffed and adopted an air of being put upon. “ _Fine_. As it happens, you’re better at deductions than you think. There was someone. The first person with whom I ever had a sexual relationship. Silly me, I thought because we were having sex that meant we were dating. I wanted to stay the night and talk about our interests and hopes for the future and all that nonsense. I wanted to do other things _outside_ of the bedroom. Victor finally had enough of my clinging and told me that he loved taking my cock, but I was too much of a wanker to actually spend time with.” 

John felt sick. Sherlock told his story in dispassionate tones, but he was far too cold to be as numb as he tried to appear. “Yeah, well that bloke sounds like the wanker to me.”

Sherlock gave him a tight smile. “Maybe, but that just makes us two of a kind. I can hardly fault Victor for his opinion when I’ve had the same feeling about everyone I’ve fucked since then. Though I suppose there is one difference between us. I always make it clear _up front_ that it isn’t a date and it’s never going to go further.”

John winced. “Sherlock…”

Sherlock stood abruptly and grabbed his coat. “Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time. You have an assignment to finish and my experiment can wait till tomorrow. Laterz!” He swirled on the coat and left the room before John could say another word. 

*

The next morning, John and Molly talked over breakfast. He told her an abridged account of his conversation with Sherlock. He shared up until Sherlock’s joke, telling Molly his theory that Sherlock confirmed. He left out the details that Sherlock confided. 

Molly’s face crumpled. “I knew it had to be something like this. He doesn’t think anyone could ever have feelings for him, so he’s closed himself off.”

John swallowed down his toast with a sip of tea. “It also makes sense why he didn’t hit on me. If I’m only ever going to be sexually attracted to someone I have feelings for…” He shrugged.

Molly nodded sadly. “In his mind it would be the same as if you were straight – it’s never going to happen.” They both ate in contemplative silence for a bit, and then Molly put her tea down and gave him a stern look. “John, you need to listen to me. You cannot develop feelings for him.”

John swallowed the wrong way and suffered a coughing fit for a minute. “Where the hell did that come from? Just because I feel sorry for the guy?”

Molly shook her head. “I’m talking about your propensity to fall for people who are not capable of returning your feelings. You heard it yourself, he’s deliberately denying himself intimacy because he believes no one could have feelings for him. The last thing you need is for him to hurt you by pushing you away.”

John narrowed his eyes. “Just so I get this right, and I’m going to take myself out of the equation here… You’re saying people should avoid falling in love with Sherlock Holmes because he’ll keep them at arm’s length because he thinks they couldn’t love him.”

Molly huffed. “You can’t take yourself out of the equation, John! _You_ are the one I care about! I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

John started to make a half-hearted protest, but realised she was right. “Okay I get it. You don’t want _me_ to fall for him because my heart’s been bruised enough. But I hope that _somebody_ out there is brave enough to love him, despite this wall he’s put up. Otherwise he’s made himself into a self-fulfilling prophecy, and that’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard. No one deserves to be lonely just because they’re scared.”

Molly smiled sadly. “I want Sherlock to be happy, too. But sometimes people won’t let themselves be. When given the chance, they double down and refuse to accept it. Do you know what I heard him call himself once? A highly functioning sociopath.” John’s eyes widened in incredulity. “ _Exactly_. Someone who is that determined to think they’re unloveable might react badly to being told otherwise. In such a case, maybe it’s best to leave him to it.”

For the first time since they became friends, John found himself feeling unreasonably angry with Molly. He knew she understood people better than he did, but he couldn’t help but think she was wrong in this instance. 

*

The next few weeks flew by with studies and training, a couple more rugby matches and a couple more parties hosted at various places. John continued to see Sherlock in the stands and at the parties, though they didn’t interact. John tended to stick by Molly’s side and then ducked out once the crowd got drunk enough to start making horny advances. He didn’t see Sherlock in the lab, though he himself was constantly there playing catch up. 

John started following Sherlock on Instagram, feeling that it was safe to do so now that there was an understanding between them. He liked the posts he found interesting, but felt a bit shy about commenting on any of them. Sherlock followed him back, and liked some of his posts, but he too refrained from comment.

On one particularly frustrating evening, John was at the lab much later than usual trying to figure out one particularly stubborn solution that wouldn’t mix like it was supposed to. He felt a bit like Neville in Snape’s class.

“You’re putting it in the wrong order.” John turned around and saw Sherlock standing there. 

“I’m putting it in exactly as Dr. Stevens told us.”

Sherlock snorted and came over. “He’s a brilliant chemist and a shite teacher.” He pointed to the ingredient list. “That should go before that, and you have to stir it at this point.”

John took a deep breath and poured everything out, then set up the flask and Bunsen again. He followed Sherlock’s direction, and sure enough, the solution set up perfectly. He laughed in delight. “So tell me, does this make you the half-blood prince?”

Sherlock gave him a bewildered look. “The what?”

John reminded himself that not everyone his age spent their childhood reading Harry Potter. “Never mind. I can’t thank you enough. I would have spent the rest of the night on this and would have ultimately failed the assignment. You saved my arse.”

Sherlock raised one eyebrow. “Well, it’s such a nice one.” He turned and went over to another table and began unpacking his bag. Clearly he was about to get started on his own work.

John’s cheeks reddened a little at the arse remark, which sounded like flirting, but Sherlock’s tone had been too flippant. He cleared his throat and bent to the task of writing up his notes on the solution. He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain going against instructions, but he’d think of something. 

“In case you’re wondering, Stevens doesn’t really care how you arrive at the solution, as long as you get it done.”

John bit his lip on a smile. Once again, Sherlock had deduced him. “Ta.” When he finished with the notes, he packed up his bag to go. “I really appreciate your help.”

Sherlock looked up from where he was selecting a handful of ingredients. His brow wrinkled and he opened his mouth and then closed it. Shaking his head, he finally spoke. “If you ever need help again, you can always text me.” He fished out his mobile and held it up. 

John went over and took it from his hands, then entered his number into Sherlock’s contacts (there were only a few). He handed it back. “I get the feeling you’ve never made such an offer before.”

Sherlock gave him a slow smile. “Most people are too idiotic. You’re an idiot, _obviously._ Just not as much of one.”

John burst into giggles, shaking his head. “Why do I somehow find that more flattering than if you’d propositioned me for sex?” 

Sherlock’s lips quirked. “Because it’s the greater compliment.”

John huffed out a laugh, but the room suddenly felt too small. He gave a short nod, then grabbed his bag and attempted a nonchalant retreat. 

*

John took Sherlock up on his offer occasionally. Not as often as he’d like, but he didn’t want to push his luck by annoying the genius too much.Most of the time it was a question resolved over text, but sometimes when the problem was too complicated for text, they met up at the lab. 

Every time they met, John couldn’t help but ask probing questions to find out more about the enigma that was Sherlock Holmes. He’d ask for clarification on some of the cases Sherlock posted about on Instagram, and after the fourth fascinating story it led to a discussion about what Sherlock wanted to do when he graduated. Greg commented all the time that he should join the Met, but Sherlock didn’t like the idea of giving up control, following rules. He’d rather work cases on his own and serve up the solution to the police on a silver platter. It was the only interest of his he planned to pursue as a career. Dancing and the violin were just hobbies, and the chemistry was to aid him in his work.

One evening after rugby training, John headed over to the lab to meet Sherlock, annoyed that his head was filled with images supplied by the crude banter as they were changing into their street clothes. Dimmock was complaining that he hadn’t been laid in forever, and wishing that Sherlock would give him another go. Another guy, Pete, said he’d only want to hook up with Sherlock again if he bottomed. “An arse like that was made for pounding, dunno why he won’t budge about switching.” The conversation got even more explicit after that, it was bloody irritating.

When he got to the lab, Sherlock was already there bent over a microscope. John’s eyes darted away from his admittedly fantastic arse and cleared his throat. “Thanks for meeting me.”

Sherlock turned and smiled at him. “Always a pleasure, John.” 

John flushed and gave him a short nod, turning to unpack his bag. Rifling through his notes, he found the bit that had confused him during Stevens’ lecture and showed it to Sherlock. John felt his flush deepen when Sherlock leaned down to read the notes, practically bending in half as he put his elbows on the table. Christ, Pete would have a field day with this. John tore his eyes away and tried to focus when Sherlock went into his explanation of what it was that had John stymied. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Clearly you’re not getting this. Alright, I’ll demonstrate.” 

Sherlock gathered the equipment and John went to get ingredients. As they were setting up, Sherlock gave him a calculating look. “What’s with you, today?”

John shrugged one shoulder in an attempt to look nonchalant. “Dunno what you mean.”

“You’re agitated. Something has you off-kilter. Did something go wrong at rugby training?”

John sighed, knowing it was a waste of time to deflect. “It’s nothing. Just a bit weird sometimes. I feel like I’m in the presence of a celebrity or something. But like, the way I see you isn’t the same as how they see you and it’s…jarring I guess.”

Sherlock’s expression cleared. “Ah, your mates were talking about me again. Let me guess…Dimmock. He’s not been fucked in ages. He always gives me puppy dog eyes when he’s horny.”

John swallowed hard, and began measuring out ingredients, adding them to the flask. “Yeah, he’s got it bad for you. But it was Pete that really got them going.” Jesus, why was he running his mouth? “He’s put out that you won’t bottom for anyone.”

Sherlock tipped his head back and laughed. “Yes, I remember he was quite frustrated that he couldn’t have what he wanted. Got no complaints, though. Well, one. He whined about his arse being sore the next day. I told him it was his fault for being too eager.”

John inhaled deeply as he set the flask on the Bunsen. “Yes, well, I suppose it is a bit curious why you only ever top. Not that I know anything about all this, mind, but from what I heard it seems like most folks switch.”

Sherlock made a humming sound, then pointed to the ingredient John should add next. “If one is in a relationship, I suppose it’s common. I only have casual sex. It’s only ever going to be the one time with these blokes, and I’m going to be the one to top. Non-negotiable.”

John bit his lip. “D’you mind my asking? I feel like I’m missing something obvious. From what I’ve been told, bottoming is supposed to feel really good.” He didn’t add that the idea of it appealed to him a lot.

“Not at all, John. It’s a valid question from someone lacking experience. Bottoming is inherently the more vulnerable position. It can be an unpleasant experience if the top doesn’t know what he’s doing…or doesn’t care. I’m good at deducing whether someone wants to fuck me, but it’s more difficult to tell in that first meeting whether they’re good with their cock, or if they _are_ a cock. I’m not interested in taking chances. I always top, and I always make sure they enjoy it.”

John huffed out a breath, his cheeks flushed again. “Wow, I guess I never really thought about the mechanics of it. I suppose I should keep what you say in mind if I ever want to bottom.”

Sherlock gave him a half smile. “I don’t believe it’s going to be an issue for you, John, since you don’t have casual sex. I can’t see you falling in love with an arsehole who couldn’t be trusted with…well, your arsehole.” They both burst into laughter, and John felt some of his tension drain. 

“John, wait!” He was just about to add an ingredient, when Sherlock’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

Realisation hit him that he’d come close to starting a fire. He’d been too distracted by Sherlock’s warm laughter. John jerked his arm back from the Bunsen and from Sherlock’s hand. He took a steadying breath. “Thanks, I almost fucked that one up.”

“I suppose we should stop nattering on and focus on the task at hand.” John nodded his head rapidly in agreement. His heart was pounding, and he wasn’t entirely sure it was due to the near miss. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sherlock&Sally video mentioned in this chapter is inspired by two performances. I knew I wanted to do a paired dance after seeing this amazing video of two dancers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W9cA9Z4bNzk
> 
> The setting of the video itself was inspired by this music video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHVWqauWiEg
> 
> (a couple of other links at the end of the chapter as they are more spoilery)

John had mixed feelings about his budding friendship with Sherlock. On the one hand, he thoroughly enjoyed himself whenever they met up. He also enjoyed texting him, and they were now commenting freely on each other’s Instagram posts. They’d even begun chatting at the parties. 

On the other hand, Molly’s warnings continued to ring in his head, especially with how difficult it was to sort out all the reactions he was having to Sherlock. Like that day John almost caused a fire with the wrong ingredient. When Sherlock touched him, he’d felt a little thrill. But he dismissed it as being keyed up from all the dirty talk after rugby training followed by the frank discussion about sex he had with Sherlock. 

Then there was the fact that he was still leaving parties early, but not only because he didn’t want to be hit on. The truth was that he tended to leave whenever he saw Sherlock talking to some fit bloke. There was no reason in the world he should be bothered by seeing Sherlock make arrangements for a hookup, unless that reason was jealousy.

He could no longer ignore the jealousy when one day before rugby, he saw Greg looking extremely put out by something on his mobile. John could hear the song ‘Pillow Talk’ playing. Greg shook his head and shoved his mobile into his gym bag. “Bloody Irene. Why couldn’t she have used Molly for this? I don’t need to be seeing this shite!” 

John realised that Irene must have posted a video, and Sally was featured. He took out his mobile and checked. To his surprise, he saw that it was a duet. That was a first. His eyebrows shot to the ceiling as he watched Sherlock and Sally writhing artistically around on a mattress to the song ‘Pillow Talk.’ They alternated between movements that conveyed conflict and intimacy. It was tastefully done. They weren’t outright simulating sex, but it was certainly suggestive. 

There were also moments not on the mattress when they were dancing around the room, and the way they moved in sync it was like their bodies were made to be together. On the one hand John admired the talent of both the dancers and Irene’s choreography – overall it was quite stunning. On the other hand, he felt the same way that Greg had looked moments ago, his insides squirming in discomfort.

John cleared his throat and tried to be rational. “I uh…think it works better with Sally. The song is about a volatile relationship, and that describes theirs pretty well.” He forced a chuckle.

Greg glared at him for a moment, then his shoulders drooped. “Christ, I’m a mess. This is Sherlock we’re talking about, he has zero interest in women. He was probably inwardly vomiting the whole time.” They both laughed weakly. 

“I’m sure she was feeling the same way, mate. Those two are like oil and water.”

Greg barked out a laugh. “That’s for damn sure. Still though, they really made it look like they were hot for each other. And you _know_ that’s the real reason why Irene didn’t use Molly. She wouldn’t have been able to stand it.”

John snorted. “Would have been a disaster.” He adopted an imperious look. “Sherlock, I want you to look at Molly like you want to tear her clothes off. Sherlock! Stop looking at Molly like you want to eat her!”

Greg doubled over in laughter. “They’d have been ready to murder each other.” Their laughter died and Greg shook his head. “Thanks for that. I feel a bit better now. Dunno if I can watch it again, but I’ll be able to properly praise Sally for her work when I see her later.”

John clapped him on the shoulder and they went about getting ready for training. John avoided thinking about the fact that he wasn’t keen to watch the video again, either.

*

“John, you’ll come to our recital, won’t you?” He looked up from his mobile to see Molly gazing at him hopefully.

“He better come! We need him and his car to haul our equipment to the venue.” John shook his head and chuckled. Irene was forever roping him into running errands for her. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there. I mean, may as well. No point in making two trips to drop off and then pick up your gear.”

Irene beamed. “Very practical, John.”

Molly gave Irene an exasperated look. John chuckled. “Molly, of course I want to be there, and not because I’m your designated cabbie. You always come out to my matches and it means a lot to me. I want to support all of your hard work as well.”

Irene gave him a mischievous smile. “Don’t forget to bring a bouquet of flowers with you.”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “You’d be okay with me giving Molly flowers?” 

She scowled. “No, I’ll be the one giving her flowers! I’m talking about for Sherlock. He’s the only one of us that’s unattached, but that doesn’t mean he should do without.”

John sighed and shook his head. “I’m sure he’ll be inundated by most of the rugby team.” He felt a twinge as he said it, and tried hard not to think of the idea of Sherlock, flushed from dancing and still in his leotard, being presented with a bouquet by John. Not roses…Sherlock would appreciate something different. Perhaps whatever flowers bees liked the most. Sherlock was on a kick lately sharing bee facts on his Instagram.

Glad that Irene was now looking over at Molly as they chatted about the upcoming recital, John rubbed his hand down his face as he thought about the way things were headed. He wondered if there was any turning back at this point.

*

John was lounging on a lab stool trying to make heads or tails of his lecture notes when Sherlock burst into the room, panting. John stared at him in amazement. He’d never seen Sherlock in a hurry before. “Sorry, I’m late, we just finished rehearsal.” Sherlock took off his coat and John saw that he was wearing an oversized sweatshirt over a leotard. He’d obviously not taken the time to change before rushing over.

“Christ, Sherlock, I’m sorry! I forgot Molly told me you all were getting in extra rehearsal time for the recital. I shouldn’t have asked for help, you’re far too busy.”

Sherlock waved his hand. “No, John, you need my help. I can’t possibly abandon you now when I’ve gone to such lengths for your education.”

John snorted. “Git. I appreciate it. But next time, no need to hurry over here on my account.”

Sherlock smiled. “I didn’t hurry, I just didn’t feel like getting changed.” He stepped forward, and then let out a yelp as he collapsed to the ground. 

John rushed over. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock growled as he clutched at his leg. “Fuck, it’s a cramp. My calf muscle. Didn’t stretch properly before I left. Stupid!”

John winced in sympathy. He knew exactly what that felt like. He set to work immediately, grabbing Sherlock’s leg and removing his shoe, then using the heel of his hand to push against the ball of Sherlock’s foot. With his other hand he massaged the calf muscles. The simultaneous action always worked the best to get the cramp to release more quickly. Sherlock groaned and whimpered, but after a few moments his face relaxed and his shoulders slumped in relief. John didn’t stop the pressure or the massaging, as it was always a risk of another cramp if treatment stopped too quickly. 

Sherlock leaned back against the cabinet, sighing with relief, and John began to feel a prickle of something dangerous. Part of him wanted to yank his fingers back from their caress of Sherlock’s calf muscles, but the rugby captain and future doctor in him refused such a notion and waited until he was sure the cramp wouldn’t come back. 

When he was satisfied, he gently set Sherlock’s leg on the floor and scooted back a safe distance, swallowing hard at the blissed-out look on Sherlock’s face. “Thank you, John. I suppose if I had to get a muscle spasm, I’m glad it was in the presence of someone with experience in this sort of thing.”

John laughed shakily. “Quite right. I’ve had to perform that stretch on my teammates more times than I can count.” And it never unnerved him as much as it did just now, he reluctantly admitted to himself. “Anyway, that just proved my point. No need to rush here like you did. Do a proper cool down. Eat a banana. You’re no good to me sprawled on the floor, you know.”

They both giggled, and Sherlock carefully rose from the floor, waving away John’s offered hand. “Alright then, let’s see what Stevens has botched in his lecture this time.” John studiously avoided the way that Sherlock’s sweatshirt slipped over one shoulder as he talked.

*

Unlike Irene’s choreography, which used contemporary music and mixed contemporary dance into the ballet, the recital was more traditional. John recognised a song by Rachmaninoff that Sherlock was playing on his violin earlier in the week in his Instagram story. 

The dance troupe included eight people in total – four women and four men. Irene once mentioned that though they got along with the other four people well enough, none of them had any interest in participating in her choreography. The implication from her tone was that they were talentless hacks and she was relieved they turned down her polite offer to include them in her videos.

John didn’t know much about dancing, but he could tell what she meant. The one woman and three other men – none of whom he recognised – all seemed a bit too stiff in their dancing, a bit too adherent to technical form. From what John had seen on Instagram, Sherlock was very technically proficient, but he also had something they lacked – a fluidity of movement, grace, and passion.

When Sherlock came out, it was clear he was meant to be the star of the show. The others swirled around him, reaching towards him and then flaring outward like a flower unfurling. John was mesmerised. There was something about seeing him dance in person that was entirely different than watching a video on his tiny mobile screen. Sherlock was larger than life, he was electric, and John could see a myriad of details – the way his muscles bunched and stretched, the way his chest heaved as he performed, the way the fabric of his costume seemed to be both wispy and clingy. The costumes were the one part of the show that were contemporary – no huge, stiff tutus, ribbons, tiaras, or brocade. Just leotards, tights, and randomly placed tulle in a rainbow of colours. 

In fact, the purpose of the rainbow colours seemed clear after a moment. For once the pairings weren’t exclusively male and female, it was a mix. But as was noted before, all eyes eventually fell on Sherlock. The theme of the dancing seemed to be that he did not favour any of them. He danced with any partner who approached him, but otherwise remained aloof, watching the others. Eventually, everyone left in pairs or groups, leaving Sherlock alone. He performed one last dance, his movements giving off the impression that he loved the freedom and flexibility of dancing by himself.

Whoever choreographed the dance knew Sherlock quite well, it was practically an homage. John went through a myriad of emotions as he watched, and all of them troubling. There was his admiration for Sherlock’s form – both his dancing form and his… _form_. He could possibly explain it away: Sherlock was a compelling person that drew anyone’s eyes, it didn’t have to be sexual. 

The jealousy, though – that wasn’t as easily dismissed. Every single person Sherlock danced with had John squirming in his seat - especially the three men. Had he slept with any of them? The way he moved with them, touched them, the look of intensity on his face…John knew it was an act, but how could they resist him? They were all good-looking blokes. Sherlock didn’t only go for rugby players, surely he must fancy dancers…as fit as they were. John felt an odd flush of dismay and arousal at the last bloke, who kept touching Sherlock over and over. And Sherlock was starting to sweat from the exertion of the dance. None of it was sexual, but John had that same reaction nonetheless.

During the last dance, as Sherlock leapt and pirouetted and gambolled in a carefree manner, John’s realisation of this was the worst feeling yet to process. It was a message loud and clear that no matter what feelings were growing in John’s heart, he couldn’t act on it. He would want Sherlock for his own, want to keep him, and that was never going to happen. Alone was Sherlock’s preferred state.

John pasted a bright smile on his face when the show was over and everyone took their bows. He gave Sherlock a smile and perfunctory nod when he looked his way, then did the same in turn to Irene, Molly, and Sally. He was hoping they would go backstage to change or something so he could compose himself. Instead, they all came down from the stage to mingle with the audience. 

John saw Greg go up to Sally and lift her up to twirl her around, then presented her with a lovely bouquet of orange tropical flowers. Someone must have been holding Irene and Molly’s bouquets, because they materialised in their hands. Irene gave Molly pink daisies and Molly gave Irene blood red roses. John took a deep breath and looked around until he saw Sherlock, who was talking to Dimmock. John wasn’t surprised _he_ was here. He decided to bide his time until they parted ways. He didn’t want to do this in front of Sherlock’s number one fan.

Sherlock’s gaze went around the room until it settled on John, and it seemed as if his eyes softened. He said something to Dimmock, probably a goodbye judging by the chagrin on his face. Sherlock came over to where John was standing. John smiled up at him. “Sherlock, that was amazing. You were quite extraordinary. All of you were, of course.” 

Sherlock smiled and nodded. “Thank you, John. I’m glad you came, though I know you’d never disappoint Molly.” He still seemed a little out of breath, and he was glistening with sweat. 

John cleared his throat. “I came here to see all of you, of course. Well, the four of you that I already knew. You’ve become my friends and I want to support you all. Anyway, well done.” He thrust his hand out, presenting Sherlock with a bouquet of lavender.

Sherlock blinked. Then he blinked again. “You’re giving me flowers?” He gazed at John with wide eyes.

John reddened. “It was Irene’s idea. She said you shouldn’t go without just because you’re unattached.”

Sherlock scowled. “So, you’re giving them to me out of _pity_?”

John shook his head. “No… _no_ …that’s not what I mean at all. I just meant that Irene planted the seed. I liked the idea of doing this for you. You’re extremely talented, you deserve your own bouquet. I even customised it for you.”

Sherlock looked down again at the bouquet. “Lavender. A lovely colour, pleasing scent… _oh_.” He smiled again. “They’re a favourite of bees. You’ve noticed that I’ve become rather interested in apiology.”

John grinned and nodded. “I would have got you wisteria, which was the first result when I googled it. But they didn’t have any at the last minute.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Lavender is better. I can dry them and the scent will last a long time. Thank you, John.” He finally reached out to accept the flowers.

Molly came bounding over at that moment. “John!” He pulled her into a bear hug and congratulated her on her performance. She smiled and pressed her daisies into her face to inhale the scent. “We’ve decided to all go out to Angelo’s to celebrate. Are you two coming?”

“ _After_ we change and then pack up John’s car.” Irene was right behind her, as was Greg and Sally. 

John laughed. “Mustn’t forget the gear.” He was frankly glad of the opportunity to do some grunt work to clear his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The leg cramp moment was inspired by this lovely balletlock art:  
> https://taikova.tumblr.com/post/95312178953/happy-very-late-beefday-beeb-falka-3-heres
> 
> After I wrote Sherlock’s recital solo, someone shared this video with me, which I found delightful because it perfectly conveys what I was going for (and he looks like Sherlock): https://youtu.be/myUXoDac7h4


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few years ago I was listening to the song ‘I Want You To Want Me’ and thinking to myself that the words were so full of longing and it was almost jarring with such an upbeat tempo. I wondered if someone had done a slowed down version to it, and found this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZ1TgnXu_Ak
> 
> Anyway, thought it would be fun to incorporate it since John's pining is getting out of hand.

John didn’t dare tell Molly about what was happening. The thing was, he _could_ try to spend less time with Sherlock to mitigate his growing feelings. But it was obvious that Sherlock really appreciated their friendship. He had brightened considerably when John declared them to be friends, probably because it seemed like most people weren’t clamoring to spend time with him unless it involved sex. It would be kinda shitty if John were to suddenly pull back from the friendship because he’s now starting to have sexual thoughts about him.

And _oh god_ there were so many sexual thoughts. Every time he was in the mood for a wank (which was a lot lately) he had to forcibly stop himself from going to Instagram to watch Sherlock dancing. That’s how bad it was getting. Every time his mobile alerted him to a new video by Irene, his cock twitched. He always had mixed feelings if it turned out to be someone other than Sherlock, and ended up with a raging debate inside of him if it _was_ him – watch it or no? He always watched it.

One lazy Sunday, John was lounging in his room with tea and toast when his mobile chimed. Irene had posted a video of Sherlock, and as usual John was unable to resist watching it. Except this time…this time Irene had gone too far. How had she _known_?

John stormed into the kitchen, where Molly and Irene were giggling about something as they ate croissants. “How did you know?”

Irene’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ll have to elaborate.”

John held up his mobile. “The routine you just posted. The _song_ , Irene.”

Irene huffed out a laugh. “Are you forgetting the conversation we had? You were the one who told me you thought ‘I Want You To Want Me’ would be lovely as a ballad. I found some covers on youtube and realised you were right. I did credit you as the one who turned me onto the song.”

John’s face flamed. “I know that, I read it in your caption. Which is worse, because now it’s obvious. _That_ song, attributed to _me_ , with _Sherlock_ dancing to it. It’s not subtle at all!” Christ, the way that Sherlock had danced to that song. The cover she used had so been full of longing, and juxtaposed with how Sherlock conveyed the yearning through dance had cut John to the _core_. 

Irene and Molly stared at him. Irene murmured, “John…?”

He realised at once that it had not been on purpose. At least not consciously. And now he’d gone and practically confessed to them.

Molly was shaking her head. “No. No, no, _no_ , please tell me it isn’t true, John.”

John squeezed his eyes shut, actively willing the stinging sensation of tears to cease. “Please, Molly. I can’t…don’t you think I _know_ what I’ve done? I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

There was a long silence and then Irene briskly stood up to refresh her coffee. “I feel like some cliché for asking this, but why the long faces? If I’m reading the situation correctly, you now have feelings for Sherlock. Which means you’re also thinking very filthy thoughts about him. This is fantastic! For once you won’t have someone rejecting you, John. Sherlock will have you bent over a table the moment you say the word. Your virginity will be one more milestone crossed off your list. And if I may say, you’ll be luckier than most. First times are often less than thrilling. He’ll make it good for you.” She nodded as if imparting sage wisdom.

Molly stood as well. “Irene, I can’t believe you’re this thick! This isn’t about sex! At least, it isn’t _just_ about sex. You really have no idea what John’s been through. If you did, you’d understand why this is a disaster.”

Irene folded her arms. “I know what happened with you, but you were kids! It’s practically a rite of passage for boys to be rejected by a lesbian. Whatever else has happened to John, he refuses to say.” She gave him a significant look.

Molly started to protest, but John held up his hand. “It’s alright, Molly, I’ll spill.” He sat down. “His name was James Sholto. He was a lecturer at Loudain, a teaching fellow. I barely made it halfway through the semester before I’d fallen for him. He never seemed to mind that I always had questions. It seemed to fuel his enthusiasm. He…he kept looking at me during lecture. As if I was the only one in the room. But I knew it would be stupid to approach him, then. So, I kept it to myself until term ended.”

John sighed. “Once the final grade was posted, I went to see him. I knew he wanted me, you know that cliché about the eyes being the window to the soul? But he said no. Said that it didn’t matter I was no longer in his course. I was a student, and he was an instructor. A month after the next term started, he was seeing someone else. Another member of staff. He deliberately flaunted it in front of me. It sent a message loud and clear that in case I was waiting until after graduation to pursue something, don’t bother.”

There was a long silence, and then Irene spoke up again. “But, I don’t understand what this has to do with Sherlock. There are no moral or ethical dilemmas here. You can fuck to your heart’s content.”

John put his head in his hands, listening to Molly’s exasperated tones as she jumped to explain. “John, I’m so sorry, she really thinks all boys want is sex. And I don’t think she truly understood what you told her about demis.” She turned to her girlfriend. “If this was just about sex, Sholto would have had John six ways to Sunday. But he knew that John needed more from him. That was why he turned him down. John doesn’t feel attraction until he feels love. It’s not like he’s unlocking some level of gameplay. The desire for sex is just a byproduct. His _feelings_ are what matters. That’s what deserves the attention, and that was what Sholto couldn’t give John. Sherlock can’t give him that, either.”

John dropped his hands and shook his head. “No, you’re wrong.”

Molly gave him a startled look. “You really think Sherlock can reciprocate your feelings?”

John took a long, deep breath. “No. Of course not. I’m saying that my feelings don’t matter. Or at least, they _shouldn’t_ matter. I’m barely an adult, I don’t need to be worrying about love. I should just…have sex. Get it over with and stop overthinking it. For the first time, I’m in a situation where I want to have sex with someone that wants to have sex with me. I just need to…to do _that_ …and not worry about everything else. So…yeah…I’m glad we’ve talked this out. This is good. I’m gonna have sex with Sherlock, and it’ll be fine.” He gave a jerky nod as if that settled the matter.

Irene gaped at him. “Holy shit, Molly. You’re right. I don’t know why I ever doubted you. Boys _can_ have feelings.” Molly threw up her hands. Irene put her hand over her heart. “Oh John, I’m so, so sorry.”

John made a cutting gesture. “No! Stop feeling sorry for me, there’s no point. Look, I’m not pretending like I don’t want more. But I think I can be fine with just sex. And as you say, it will be… _really_ good. I mean, I’m pretty sure Dimmock has an altar to Sherlock set up in his locker.” He huffed out a cynical laugh. “I can finally be one of the guys.”

Molly folded her arms. “So, you’re saying that you’ll just have sex with Sherlock, and then go back to being lab buddies? And when he sets his sights on the next new athlete, you’ll be fine with it?” Her voice had a steely note he’d never heard before, as if daring him to answer her honestly. Irene was staring at her with frank admiration.

John lifted his chin, determined to be just as steely even though his insides roiled at the very thought. “I’ve always been a bit of a gambler, Molly. I’ve examined the odds of what will happen if I tell Sherlock about this. He’ll either tell me he feels the same way…which has a _very_ small probability. Or we’ll have casual sex and I’ll finally know what all the fuss is about. I’m willing to take on either outcome.”

Irene looked pensive. “But what if he pulls a Sholto? He may reject you because he knows he can’t reciprocate. John, he doesn’t deserve to be put in that position. He values your friendship.”

John gave her an exasperated look. “A few minutes ago you were cheering at the idea of him bending me over the table. Now you’re saying I should continue hiding it for the sake of our friendship?”

Irene screwed up her face and shook her head. “No, that won’t work either, will it? He’ll figure it out, if he hasn’t already. This is Sherlock we’re talking about.”

Molly hummed. “Well…he might not. He’s quite convinced no one would ever love him for himself and not just his body. Whatever signals John is sending might go right over his head.”

John looked up at the ceiling and groaned. He didn’t know what to think. Lifting his head back up, he took a deep breath. “Right, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to continue not saying anything to Sherlock, because Irene is right – our friendship is important to Sherlock, and it’s important to me. I don’t want to burden him with all these feelings he doesn’t want if there’s a chance he won’t even notice. _If_ Sherlock deduces it and doesn’t put the moves on me, I think I can live with that. If he _does_ proposition me…I’ll…I don’t know. See what happens. I doubt I’ll be able to resist him.”

Molly’s lip wobbled. “Oh, John.” She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

*

There were many times John wanted to give in and tell Sherlock that he desperately wanted to go to bed with him, such as every time Sherlock rolled his head around to stretch out his neck muscles and John felt a vampiric urge to bite red marks into that alabaster flesh. But he kept his mouth shut and let their friendship grow. 

They saw each other all the time now, not just in the lab or at parties. They had meals together. John introduced Sherlock to the delights of Bond movies. He tried to resist being utterly charmed by Sherlock’s running commentary on the absurdity of it all. It was moments like those that John didn’t even think about sex – he just wanted to wrap his arms around Sherlock and tell him how much he desperately loved him. 

John still left the parties early whenever some fit bloke started to chat Sherlock up. And if the subject of Sherlock came up at rugby, John slid out of the room as unobtrusively as possible. 

One Saturday night, John was plotting his escape so he wouldn’t have to watch the latest member of the swim team, Jim Moriarty, practically devour Sherlock with his eyes. He was very good-looking, and wearing a white t-shirt that hugged every sculpted muscle. He was so obviously receptive to a hook-up that John was surprised they hadn’t left the party yet. 

The only reason John hadn’t beaten a hasty retreat was because Molly got drunk far more quickly than usual and was sitting in his lap talking non-stop to Sally. He was having a hard time finding a moment in the conversation to announce his departure. He was on the verge of breaking in to pretend he needed a trip to the loo when Irene flopped down next to them and demanded her girlfriend switch laps. Molly giggled hysterically and shimmied off John’s lap and into Irene’s. The movement made John realise he did have to take a piss after all, so he went off to get relief.

When he came back from the loo to tell them he was leaving, he was surprised to see Sherlock had taken his spot. Moriarty was nowhere to be seen. Sally was gone too, so John sat down in her former spot, feeling bemused. As he got settled, Molly chose that moment to vacate Irene’s lap, mumbling that she needed the loo herself. 

Irene took the opportunity to turn to Sherlock and give him an assessing look. “What happened between you and Moriarty? He was clearly gagging for it, but you were giving him fuck-off vibes. I saw the look he gave you just before he left. He was _not_ happy with rejection.”

Sherlock huffed. “Do you even have to ask, Irene? I know you could see it, too. There’s something very wrong with that boy.”

Irene snorted. “Since when have you had to like someone to fuck them? You’re never picky, Sherlock, especially when you haven’t had any in forever. And I know it’s been awhile.”

Sherlock gave her an affronted look. “How could you possibly know that?”

She gave him a catlike smile. “You’re never at your best performance-wise the day after a hookup. So I always pay attention when you leave with someone so I know not to expect much the next day.”

Sherlock’s jaw dropped. “How _dare_ you malign my performance!”

Irene rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, it’s true of many athletes. John, weren’t you telling me that you recommend your players don’t have sex the night before a match?”

John laughed. He realised he was feeling a bit giddy knowing that Sherlock rejected Moriarty. “It’s a superstition, Irene. I say it as a joke, and it’s up to them whether they’ll obey. I know for sure Greg doesn’t, Sally wouldn’t stand for it.”

Irene hummed skeptically. “Well, it’s true in Sherlock’s case. He’s utter shite at dancing the day after sex. But for months now he’s been at peak performance. When _was_ the last time you had sex, Sherlock?”

To John’s astonishment, Sherlock’s face flushed red and he looked…concerned. “Irene,” he gritted, “it’s none of your business! I’ve been performing well because I always perform well.”

Irene seemed to ignore him, lost in thought. “Trying to remember the last bloke you shagged. Wasn’t it that new player on the football team? Freddie? When did he start?”

Sherlock abruptly stood up. “I’m going to get a drink.” He strode off. Irene’s eyes widened and she shot up, taking off after him. 

John tried to remember if he’d ever met someone named Freddie. He didn’t keep up with the footballers. Molly sat back down beside him with a fresh drink and asked what was going on. Pointing to where Sherlock and Irene were having a whispered argument across the room, John explained about Moriarty’s rejection and Irene’s theory that Sherlock hasn’t had sex in awhile. “Do you know a guy named Freddie?”

Molly blinked blearily. “Freddie the Footballer?” she slurred. “Seems like a nice chap. He started just before you did.” John stared at her. That…that couldn’t mean that Sherlock hasn’t had sex since before he came to town. He’s constantly chatting with blokes at every party John’s been to. Probably just meant that they never crossed paths until recently. Or maybe not that recently if Irene was right. 

As they watched, Sherlock threw up his hands and stormed off. Irene came back over to the sofa, looking like a cat that just swiped some cream. She sat down on Molly’s other side and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Hello my love, glad to see you’re not passed out yet.”

Molly giggled. “What in the world did you say to Sherlock that had him in a tizzy?”

Irene smiled secretively. “Mmm, we’ll talk about it when you’re sober. I have a feeling we’ve been _completely_ wrong about dear Sherlock.”

John felt his shoulders wilt. He cleared his throat. “So, does that mean he’s still having loads of sex?”

Irene tipped her head back and laughed. “Oh John, John, John. I’m afraid that Sherlock has made me swear to stop spouting off about his sex life. But if I were you, I’d start being a little more observant.”

John felt a twitch of frustration. “What the hell does that mean?”

Irene shook her head. “This conversation is over. Would you mind terribly helping me get this one home before she chunders all over our host’s flat?”


	6. Chapter 6

One afternoon John came home after lecture to find Molly and Sherlock chatting on the sofa. “This is a pleasant surprise. Hello, Sherlock.”

Sherlock gave him a warm smile. “John. Irene asked me to meet you all here. She has some news she wants to share.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Oh? What’s this about, Molls?”

She gave him a secretive smile. “She hasn’t told me yet, though I do have some suspicions. I don’t want to say anything to jinx it! John, she said it involved you as well, do you mind sticking around?”

John admitted he was intrigued and he sat down to chat with them as they waited for Irene.

When Irene finally came in (Molly had long since given her a key to the flat), she was practically vibrating from excitement. “I’m sure Molly suspects what I have to tell you. The Instagram videos I’ve been doing have caught the attention of Bohemia Studios. They are a _very_ big deal in London right now, and they called to ask me to come in for an interview. I met with them earlier today, and…” Irene took a deep breath. “They’re interested in possibly hiring me for their team.” 

Molly shrieked and threw her arms around her. Irene laughed and gave her a thorough kiss. “But! Before they agree to hire me, they want me to make another video, this time using professional equipment. They’ll provide all that, and they gave me a budget as well. They asked for ideas of what I might like to do. We brainstormed possibilities and came up with one routine that they were over the moon about. I hope you don’t mind, but I sort of included you as part of it even though you didn’t agree to something like this.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Are you joking? Of course we’d agree!”

Irene bit her lip. “Only, you might not like what I came up with. But I’m not keen to go back to them with something else if you won’t do it.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “Why wouldn’t we do it?”

Irene took a deep breath and adopted a breezy expression. “Well, first of all, one of the featured participants is not a dancer.” She turned to John. “It’s fine though, since you won’t have to actually dance.”

John blinked. “Me? You want _me_ to be in the video? What would I be doing if not dancing?”

Irene grinned. “You have the most important part. The song is going to be ‘You’re the One That I Want’ from the movie _Grease_ and you are the one who is wanted, so to speak. By Sherlock.”

John’s eyes widened and he fought to keep from turning red as he glanced over at Sherlock, surprised to see that he was glaring at Irene. “Are you seriously telling me you want John and I to…to perform to _that_ song? To role play like we’re barmy for each other?” John felt something tighten in his gut.

Irene looked the picture of innocence. “You were able to do it with Sally.”

Sherlock scoffed. “That’s because I’m a performer and so is she. John has no experience with this sort of thing. You can’t just expect him to…to…pretend some sort of come hither role play with me slavering after him…”

John didn’t know what came over him, but he found himself protesting. “Oi! Just because I’ve never had sex doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about flirting. And I did some drama stuff in secondary school.”

Sherlock gave him a startled look. “Are you saying you want to do this? I would have thought you’d be massively uncomfortable with it.”

John silently cursed his big mouth. “I don’t…I don’t know yet what I’m agreeing to. How exactly does this work, Irene, if I don’t have to dance as you say?”

Irene went on to explain that instead of a carnival, it would be set on a rugby field. John would be wearing his rugby kit and doing typical rugby things as Sherlock danced around him. She emphasised that there would be no lip syncing – they would convey the words of the song with expression and movement.

John knew deep down that Irene had not planned this deliberately. It was the product of spur-of-the-moment brainstorming with people she might possibly work for. But she couldn’t have picked a scenario more likely to torment him if she tried. He couldn’t bring himself to say no, though. This meant too much to her, and he had come to like her very much.

John was more surprised by Sherlock’s reaction to the whole thing. He agreed to do the video, but seemed very reluctant about the whole thing. He couldn’t be _that_ put out on John’s behalf could he? It seemed like he was masking the real reason, and John couldn’t help but feel hurt by what that reason might be.

*

John knew a little bit about Irene’s process from the handful of blooper videos she posted. For instance, he knew that there were often multiple takes, especially if an error was made. The same moments were often shot from different angles. Some of those angles were rather intrusive. It wasn’t something that John had ever thought about much until he was participating in these activities. He wouldn’t really mind if it weren’t for the fact that it involved being in close proximity to Sherlock for endless periods of time.

It didn’t help that Sherlock’s costume was a black muscle shirt with black tights and his hair slicked back to resemble Travolta’s look. The first time he saw Sherlock in the get up he turned to Irene and gave her a look that said he would cheerfully murder her. 

John somehow managed to make it through each day of filming and then went home and wanked until he almost blacked out. He almost resented the way Sherlock behaved so professionally, even when they had to be up close and personal. He also may have admired it a tiny bit. Sherlock was so brilliant at what he did, and there were times when John would find himself staring at Sherlock as he and Irene hashed things out between takes.

John was loath to admit it to himself, but he thought the video was going to turn out quite well. _If_ he didn’t fuck it up by looking stiff as a board with an expression like he swallowed a lemon. The premise was charming. John would be minding his business, doing various routine stretches and drills like at rugby training, and Sherlock would dance around him. For instance, John would be running towards the goal with the ball and then become distracted by Sherlock dancing around the goal post in a suggestive manner. 

Sometimes there was physical contact, like John would be in a crouch as if getting ready to scrum and Sherlock would roll over his back. Or he’d be doing pushups and Sherlock was pretending to sit on his bum. These takes were always the worst. Feeling Sherlock’s weight on him. Enduring the endless touching as Sherlock and Irene brainstormed the best way to block a scene.

True to Irene’s word, John didn’t have to dance. He did have to do choreographed movements, like backing away with Sherlock stalking towards him, then reversing their moves with John advancing on him as he backed away. The general idea of the story, similar to the song, is that Sherlock wanted to have him and was trying to get his attention, and John’s reaction alternated between amusement, irritation, desire, and flirting. 

Like in the movie, there was an ensemble scene towards the end that included Sally with Greg (who was more chuffed than he’d admit that he got to be included) and Irene with Molly. The latter two argued endlessly over which one would get to wear the rugby kit. Molly won the argument, but John suspected it was a ruse by Irene to see Molly dressed like a rugby player. 

In a cruel twist of the knife, Irene’s vision for the last scene took place in the changing room, where Sherlock would be doing ballet stretches on the bench and John would walk in from the showers wearing just a towel. Sherlock loudly protested that this was straight out of a porno, but Irene would not be gainsaid. The scene would end with them leaning in to kiss each other, and as the camera zooms in, the viewer would see Sherlock reach down for something off screen and then a towel (the idea being that it was the one John had been wearing) would be thrown at the camera to give them privacy. 

John was nervous as hell between the time when Irene informed them of how the scene would go and when the day came to film it. With no shame at all, he wanked in his bed before heading over to the shoot in the hopes that it would mitigate the coming disaster.

John took a deep breath as he prepared to exit the showers and make his way to the changing room, his fingers gripped tightly to the knot keeping the ends of his towel together. When he entered the room, he saw Irene with the camera setting up the shot, Sherlock laying on the bench chatting with Molly.

Irene looked up, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head. “John, you’re not wet enough. Molly, spray him down.”

John huffed out a laugh. “What do you mean? Only my hair should be damp, I would have toweled dry in the shower.”

Irene rolled her eyes. “We’re not going for realism here. Glistening skin is sexier. Molly, the bottle’s right over there next to Sherlock.” 

Sherlock leapt off the bench and snatched up the bottle. “I’ll do it.”

Irene smirked. “Fine, but make sure to soak his hair so that water dribbles down, it’s more erotic.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Tell me again how we’re _not_ making a porno?”

John felt alarm bells going off in his head as Sherlock approached. He tried not to look apprehensive, but must have failed because Sherlock gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, it’s filled it with warm water.”

John huffed out a shaky laugh as Sherlock began spritzing water all over his chest. He was right, it was warm. But that didn’t last long - the wetness lowered the temperature of his skin, and he felt his nipples tighten. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at Irene and Molly, then turned back to John. “Look, if you’re uncomfortable with me pulling your towel off, we can just have Molly hand me an identical one off screen.”

John’s brow furrowed. “Why would I be uncomfortable?” 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Because then you’ll be naked in front of all of us.”

John started chuckling, glad for the distraction from the fact that Sherlock was spraying up and down his arms. “Sherlock, that’s very nice of you to think of my modesty, but I’m not actually naked under the towel. I’ve got a pair of boxer briefs on.” He giggled again at the look on Sherlock’s face as he realised he’d been concerned for nothing. 

Sherlock started giggling as well and pretty soon they were having a hard time keeping it under control. Sherlock hissed, “We can’t giggle at a video shoot!” but that set them off even more. 

John shook his head. “But your face, though.”

Sherlock scowled. “I was trying to be considerate for once in my life!”

John chuckled. “I appreciate it. But I mean, I’m naked in front of my teammates all the time.”

Sherlock mumbled a response that sounded almost like, “Lucky bastards.” John asked him to repeat it, and Sherlock shrugged and said, “It’s a bit different baring it all in front of two lesbians.” John conceded the point.

The laughter faded when Sherlock started spraying his hair, running his fingers through it so that the moisture penetrated down to the roots. John stayed stock still, concentrating on breathing steadily and quelling his arousal. He looked down at the ground, ostensibly so that Sherlock would have better access to the top of his head, but mostly so he wouldn’t have to look at Sherlock. 

He was so busy concentrating on regulating his own reaction, that it took him longer to notice that Sherlock’s breathing wasn’t steady, and the fingers running through his hair trembled slightly. When the realisation hit him, John was compelled to look up. Sherlock’s face quickly shuttered into a mask of professionalism, but not before John saw the heat of desire in his eyes. 

Sherlock stepped back, clearing his throat. “Well, Irene, does this look porny enough for you?”

Irene gave John a once over and bared her teeth in a smile. “It looks positively porntastic! Thank you, Sherlock, for your careful attention to detail with this task.”

Sherlock raised his hand in a rude gesture, and then took his place back on the bench. They blocked the first part of the scene, where Sherlock would have one of his legs stretched out the length of the bench. Sherlock would be folded in half with his forehead pressed down onto his thigh, the idea being that he’s in the middle of a stretching exercise. John would saunter in and stop right in front of him. Sherlock would lift his head, his eyes travelling up from the towel to the top of his head.

They did the take several times, and each time John had to be wetted down again. To his relief, Molly was the one to take on this duty. If Sherlock were to continue touching him, he wouldn’t be able to keep his cock under control. And considering that Sherlock always started out eye level with it, he would be bound to notice. The third time they did the take, Molly had to spend some extra time spritzing his hair because it was also starting to dry. He thought he saw Sherlock give her a thunderous look, but it only lasted a second before Irene was bellowing that his hair was wet enough, thank you very much. Molly snorted at her jealous girlfriend as she set the bottle down.

The second part of the scene was the one John dreaded the most. In it, Sherlock will slowly rise from the bench until he’s towering over John, his chest ‘heaving with desire’ as directed by Irene. John’s response will be to grab a fistful of Sherlock’s shirt and tug, indicating he wants Sherlock to kiss him. His expression triumphant, Sherlock will lower his head slowly. Meanwhile, he’ll reach down to grab the towel and fling it to cover the camera.

Fortunately for this part of the scene, Irene didn’t want him wet anymore. It would be harder to do multiple takes if John kept getting Sherlock’s shirt wet. It was a mixed blessing, though. The sharp sting of cold from the moisture cooling his skin had helped a little with his arousal. 

They had to do several takes due to technical issues with the towel. Sherlock wasn’t able to subtly tug the knot free. John’s agony increased with each take as Sherlock made more of an effort to get a grip on the towel. It wasn’t working, the knot was too tight. They tried loosening the knot, but then it kept falling off at the wrong moment, usually when John was pulling Sherlock flush against him, the end result being that Sherlock’s thigh brushed against John’s cock with only the thin material of his pants between them. 

Sherlock seemed to get increasingly agitated as well, probably annoyed that they were having to do so many takes. He finally barked at Irene to just have Molly hand him a towel off screen, for fuck’s sake. Molly darted off in search of one, John and Sherlock turning their backs on one another to compose themselves. 

John chanced a look at Irene, who gave him a significant look and then shook her head in exasperation. He turned away and concentrated on knotting the towel firmly again, relieved that he would no longer have to endure the torture of Sherlock’s hand or thigh brushing against him over and over. 

Molly came back with a towel and they resumed their take. Now that they weren’t getting stuck on the towel bit, they could continue with the last bit where their lips inched towards each other until the towel was flung into the camera. John had been very relieved that Irene decided not to have them actually kiss. She said it was because the tease of the kiss was more tantalising, and made the towel fling more effective. John knew deep down that she was taking pity on him and not forcing him to fake kiss the man he loves.

Still though, he could feel his tension ramping up with each take, seeing Sherlock’s head lower to his and stopping short. Sherlock kept jerking his head back far away every time Irene said, “Cut!” Once again they were having technical difficulties – Sherlock kept missing the camera with the towel. Every time they had to do the take over again, Sherlock would have to smooth out his shirt, stretching it taught against his chest to get out the wrinkles caused by John’s fist. Each time, John would see every line of his pecs and his nipples.

After one frustrating take when Sherlock missed the camera by a mile, instead of jerking away, Sherlock rested his forehead against John’s, growling in frustration. John gasped in surprise and Sherlock quickly took a step back. “Sorry,” he murmured, wincing. 

John shook his head, trying to look reassuring as his heart pounded from what had seemed like Sherlock was going to kiss him for real. “No, it’s okay. It’s been a long day. Look, I have an idea. Most of the time you’re getting it in the right direction, it’s just falling short of the camera. Maybe we can get a third towel and Molly can drape it over the camera right as you’re throwing yours, and it will give the illusion that it’s the same one.” He looked over at Irene. 

She nodded slowly. “I think that could work. Molly?” Molly gave her a thumbs up and went off to find towel number three. 

Sherlock busied himself with getting the wrinkles out of his shirt, and John dropped his gaze so he wouldn’t once again fixate on Sherlock’s fit torso. His eyes fell on the bulge in Sherlock’s tights, which he knew was from a dance belt. He privately wished he had one, he might have stood the chance of making it through the day with his dignity. He’d thought about wearing his cup, but it would have been obvious he had one on and didn’t feel like explaining why.

Molly finally arrived with a third towel, and they only needed two more takes before Irene was satisfied. “That’s a wrap!!”

Sherlock snapped his head back and stepped away quickly. John had to force himself to let go of Sherlock’s shirt. As agonising as this process had been, it was probably the closest he’d ever get to Sherlock physically. That is, unless John finally confessed his feelings to his friend. But given how odd Sherlock’s behaviour has been during this whole video shoot, John wondered if Sherlock was no longer interested in shagging him. Perhaps he never had been. He’d given the impression that he didn’t put the moves on John because he’d deduced John’s demisexuality, but perhaps that wasn’t the real reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some visual aids from the Grease video. A lovely shirtless John fan art:  
> https://tendalee.tumblr.com/post/185839533569/and-just-john  
> Fan art of our two boys as the Grease characters:  
> https://bottomjohns.tumblr.com/post/186769402662/sherlock-but-grease  
> An example of rugby training:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p0Px2NM9nf8  
> I wasn't able to find ballet videos using the regular version of You're The One That I Want, but this has some good moves. I like the one that starts at 8:05, tie-die dude can get it:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Sb4W9nQ-2s


	7. Chapter 7

Irene and Molly announced they were heading back home and left the room to give them privacy to change. John took off his towel and went to his locker to fetch his clothes. He considered changing out of his pants, since they were now damp from all the spraying water. But he couldn’t bring himself to strip completely naked in Sherlock’s presence. Even the slightest breeze might encourage his cock at this point. Sherlock had his back to him and was peeling off his tights. John averted his eyes, or at least tried to. Sherlock only had on the dance belt, which was effectively a thong, so his arse was on display. 

John turned away and bit down hard on his lip. He concentrated on pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt. When he next glanced at Sherlock, he too was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that was looser than the one he’d been wearing for the shoot. The dance belt was sitting on top of Sherlock’s bag and John found himself wondering if that meant he was going commando. _Christ_. Being attracted to someone in this setting, it was so much different than the typical lack of modesty with his teammates.

They turned to face each other. Sherlock cleared his throat. “Thank you for doing this for Irene. This studio job is something she wants very badly, and this video…I think they’ll really like it.” His tone was stilted.

John nodded and gave him a tight smile. “It’s the least I could do for a friend. Sherlock…” John didn’t know what came over him at that moment, but he felt all twisted up inside and wanted answers. “You didn’t seem thrilled by Irene’s plan when she first told us about it. You made it seem like you were concerned I’d be uncomfortable. Except…today it’s been _you_ that’s acting like you wanted to be anywhere else. Like the idea of being near me…repulsed you.” An imp made him step forward until he was in Sherlock’s personal space. Sherlock immediately stepped back. “See? That’s what I mean. What’s going on with you?”

Sherlock’s expression turned stormy. “What the hell are you playing at? You’re not that much of an idiot, John! You’ve known from the beginning that I was attracted to you. I only kept my distance because I understood you couldn’t return it. When we became friends, I tried to set aside that attraction out of respect for you.” 

Sherlock went over to his still open locker and slammed it shut. “There are days when all I can think about is taking you to bed. Especially when we’re sitting _on_ your bed watching bloody James Bond. It’s like the proverbial elephant in the room that we were both ignoring.” He ran his hand through his hair, agitated. “When Irene shared her plan for the video, all I could think about was that I wouldn’t be able to keep it all hidden. You’d see that great big fucking elephant and run in the other direction.”

John stared at him in amazement. All the pieces fell together. Sherlock had been going through the same torture that he has this whole time. And judging by the anguished look on his face, Sherlock clearly thought he’d just ruined things between them by voicing it aloud. John didn’t care anymore if his heart ended up broken, he couldn’t deny either of them a moment longer.

John leapt at Sherlock, crowding him against the row of lockers. Much like with the video, he fisted his hand in Sherlock’s t-shirt and tugged as he rose up on his toes and pressed their lips together. Sherlock stiffened in shock, but after a moment he was melting into him. He brought his hands up and placed them on either side of John’s face, tilting him slightly, taking over the kiss. That was fine with John, he had no idea what he was doing. And anyway the sensation of finally snogging Sherlock was overwhelming to the point that he couldn’t think clearly. He circled his arms around Sherlock’s neck, pressing them closer together as they kissed and kissed.

Sherlock finally pulled his head back to catch his breath, his head banging against the locker behind him, his expression blissful. But then his face scrunched up like it did on those rare occasions he didn’t understand something. He stared down into John’s eyes, his tone wary. “Why are you doing this, John? Do you feel sorry for me because of what I just admitted? I’d rather have more pity lavender.”

John shook his head. “For a genius, you’re rather thick sometimes. Does this seem like pity to you?” He pointed down to where his sweatpants did nothing to hide his erection. 

Sherlock stared, and his mouth opened and closed a couple of times before spluttering out, “I don’t understand. If you’re turned on, that would imply that you feel… _things._ ” His tone was disbelieving. “For _me_.” He blinked several times. “This can’t be what you want,” he whispered.

John grasped Sherlock’s shoulders, his expression pleading. “Sherlock, please don’t freak out. We can still be just friends if that’s all you want. I only told you because I’ve been going through the same torment, and now we can _do_ something about it.”

Sherlock pressed his lips together, his expression wracked with doubt. Recalling Molly’s warnings, John knew Sherlock was about to massively overthink this. John rocked his hips forward so that his erection pressed against Sherlock’s thigh. “Please, Sherlock. Don’t deny the evidence. Don’t…don’t deny _me_.” His voice broke a little at the possibility that he could be rejected yet again.

Sherlock made a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl, and the next thing John knew, their positions were reversed and John was now the one up against the lockers. John gasped and Sherlock bent his head to claim his open mouth. John felt dizzy from relief and triumph, and soon felt like he was losing his mind as Sherlock’s tongue stroked against his own again and again. He never knew kissing could be like this, so filthy and all-consuming. 

Sherlock’s hands slid down his back until he was grasping his arse, and John let out a whimper against Sherlock’s lips. The whimper turned into a squeak when Sherlock’s hands lowered to his thighs, and then John was being lifted and pinned as Sherlock slotted himself between his legs. Christ almighty, that was smooth as _fuck_. John quickly secured the new position by encircling his legs around Sherlock’s waist. John knew Sherlock had muscles from all his dance training, but even so this was an impressive display of strength. His admiration was soon forgotten as he was lost in the sensation of Sherlock’s erection grinding into his. 

Sherlock broke their kiss to groan, “Christ, I want nothing more than to bury myself in your arse right now.”

John inhaled sharply through his nose. “Oh fuck, _yes_ god, please, Sherlock!”

Sherlock gave a little shake of his head. “No, I don’t have any lube. It would be a crime if your first time being fucked is a quick spit job in a semi-public place.” John whined in protest at the idea that Sherlock might actually stop what they were doing. Sherlock seemed to read his mind, because he gave John a heated look and continued, “That being said, I don’t think I could stop touching you if the building were on fire. We’ll think of something else.” Sherlock nuzzled against the line of his jaw, nipping at his chin.

John started panting at the kisses Sherlock was raining up and down his neck. “Anything, Sherlock. I’ll leave it up to you, just please don’t stop.”

Sherlock gazed at him, his eyes blazing. “Oh John, the way you trust me. You _really_ shouldn’t.”

Before John could respond, Sherlock backed away from the wall, still holding John up. He sidled over to one of the benches and lifted his leg to swing it over so that he was straddling it, and then gently sat them both down. The way John’s legs were still around Sherlock, their cocks were aligned and rubbing through their sweatpants.

“Oh John…John, this is less than ideal, but I’m going to make you feel good.” As Sherlock said this, he peeled John’s shirt off, his lips curving into an appreciative smile as he raked his eyes over every inch of skin. John felt himself go red. 

To distract from his self-consciousness, he returned the favour and removed Sherlock’s shirt. He bit his lip as his eyes roved over Sherlock’s bared torso. “The first time I ever saw you, on Instagram, you weren’t wearing a shirt. Just a pair of tights, and Christ you were magnificent. But damned if that tiny screen didn’t do you justice.” He put a tentative palm on Sherlock’s chest, then slid it up to his shoulder and then down his arm, marveling at the silky feel of his skin.

Sherlock gave a husky laugh. “It’s true that watching you across the pitch as you pull off your rugby shirt, which you do at _every_ halftime, didn’t prepare me for when I had to spray you down earlier. It drove me bloody mad to touch you and not be able to… _touch_ you,” he growled. Sherlock bent his head to skim his lips across John’s nipples and pecs, his hands sliding to John’s back and then underneath the waistband of his sweatpants. He started massaging John’s arse. John tipped his head back to let out a moan, which broke off into a whine when Sherlock’s fingers slid down teasingly in the vicinity of his hole. It was like he couldn’t resist going there even though he’d already vetoed it. 

Eventually Sherlock abandoned his worship of John’s arse. He brought his hand around to the front and reached in to grasp John’s cock, pulling it out and stroking it. John felt the air punch out of his lungs. Sherlock chuckled darkly in his ear. “Yes, it’s very different from touching yourself, isn’t it? It’s that novel feeling of having no idea what I’m going to do next, of being literally in the palm of my hand.” He gave a twist of his fingers and John clutched at his shoulders. “Oh John, the way you respond to me.”

John tugged Sherlock forward, wanting to feel his lips again. They kissed and kissed, and then John pulled back to stare down at the magical things Sherlock was doing to his cock. He could also see where Sherlock’s was straining against his sweatpants, and prickling heat washed over him at the thought of Sherlock _wanting_ him. “Sherlock…I want to touch you. May I?”

In answer, Sherlock reached down with his other hand and tugged the waistband of his sweatpants down, his erection bobbing out. John grinned to see that he’d been commando after all. His smile faltered as he suddenly felt nervous. He knew nothing about giving pleasure to someone else. What if he was so utterly amateurish that Sherlock lost all interest? Sherlock leaned forward and breathed in his ear, “I guarantee you that even just a stroke of your fingers on my skin will feel incredible. Touch me, John.”

John sucked in a shuddering breath and grasped Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock’s breath hitched and his forehead came down onto John’s shoulder. Encouraged, John caressed him lightly, up and down. He tried variations on grip and stroke to see what Sherlock might like. He tilted his head to Sherlock’s exposed neck and began nibbling and kissing. He was so intent on his task, reveling in the sound of Sherlock panting his name in his ear that he barely noticed that Sherlock’s grip on his own cock was faltering. When he brought up his other hand to stroke his thumb across Sherlock’s hardened nipple, Sherlock’s head snapped up and he stopped John’s hand. “Christ, John!” 

John looked at him with searching eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

Sherlock shook his head vehemently. “I’ve never…the way you were so focused on me… I-I’m supposed to be the one making things good for you.”

John’s brow furrowed and he cupped Sherlock’s cheek with his hand. “I thought sex was supposed to be about making _each other_ feel good?”

Sherlock looked down and swallowed. “I don’t even know anymore. I always make sure the other bloke is having a good time because then I’ll get to have my way with them. I don’t really have much experience with someone trying to make _me_ feel good. They just want me to fuck them.” He winced, as if realising for the first time how messed up that was. Because it absolutely was. John had the terrible feeling that the same arsehole who told Sherlock he was only good for fucking also taught him that sex was only about reciprocation.

“Can we try something I’ve seen in pornos? It looks like something that will make us both feel good at the same time.”

Sherlock let out a huff of laughter. “John, I don’t think I can deny you anything.”

John gave him a soft smile and leaned in to kiss Sherlock over and over. Sliding his fingers through his silky curls, tugging and scraping lightly with his nails. Sherlock melted into him and John felt a little thrilled that Sherlock wasn’t behaving like the Casanova his teammates hinted at. After a time John reluctantly pulled back, and then he took ahold of Sherlock’s hand. “We’re gonna use yours because it’s bigger.” He licked a stripe up Sherlock’s palm, repeating it a couple more times, and then lowered it to where their two cocks were resting against each other. 

Sherlock caught on quickly. “Ah yes, I haven’t done this in a long time. This will do nicely.” Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around their two cocks and began to slide up and down. John’s mouth dropped open at how amazing it felt. They resumed kissing as Sherlock stroked them. Sherlock kept murmuring John’s name against his lips. 

John was starting to feel overwhelmed, the sensation of their cocks sliding together with the exquisite pressure of Sherlock’s hand, the increasingly desperate kisses, the deep moans escaping Sherlock’s lips. John gripped Sherlock’s shoulders, his fingernails digging crescents into his skin. Sherlock leaned back a little to catch his breath, but kept up a steady pace on their cocks. John’s head fell to the crook of Sherlock’s neck, keening words of encouragement, “Yes, yes, just like that. Ah Christ, don’t stop.”

Overcome by the urge to taste more of Sherlock’s skin, John lowered his head to capture one of Sherlock’s nipples in his lips, remembering how responsive Sherlock had been earlier when he’d simply rubbed it with his thumb. Sherlock sucked in a breath, whimpering. His hand faltered again, and John put his own hand over Sherlock’s to keep them moving along. 

John was beginning to think he would need to lick Sherlock’s hand again as the slickness was wearing off, but decided to taste the other nipple first. This time, instead of his lips, he raked his teeth over the nub, and without warning Sherlock was coming with a shout. John blinked down at the spurting cock and then up at Sherlock’s face. His lips formed an O and he was gazing at John in wonder as his whole body shook. It was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen. 

John eased his hand away from Sherlock’s cock for fear of making it oversensitised. He switched over to his own cock and absently stroked it as he watched Sherlock come down from his orgasm, marvelling at how beautiful he was. Sherlock’s brow furrowed and he looked down, his eyes widening as he saw John was still erect and straining. He shook his head as if he was personally offended, but before John could wonder why, he found himself being gingerly pushed until he was lying back on the bench. Sherlock then scooted down until his face was level with John’s cock. He looked up at John and smiled slyly, then without warning he took it into his mouth, all the way down to the hilt. 

It was John’s turn to shout, both surprised and hit with a wave of desire so strong he almost came on the spot. As it was, he only lasted another minute or so. The double sensation of feeling and watching Sherlock’s perfect lips fellate him was too much to bear and he barely had time to shout out a warning before he ejaculated quite forcefully down Sherlock’s throat. He lay gasping for breath in the aftermath, staring up at Sherlock’s self-satisfied expression. 

John felt rather boneless when Sherlock scooped his arms around him and pulled him back into an upright position, embracing him. John wrapped his own arms around Sherlock’s neck, burying his face into the crook. He trembled as Sherlock stroked his hand up and down his back, a myriad of emotions coursing through him. Everything had happened so fast. One minute they were wrapping up the most sexually frustrating shoot of this entire project, the next minute they were practically devouring each other.

They hadn’t even really talked. Just acknowledged their sexual frustration and then went at it in a haze of lust. John didn’t even know what Sherlock wanted beyond this moment. What if he didn’t want anything? If this was to be their one time together, John was deeply disappointed that it hadn’t involved more. A bed, time to explore each other, to be penetrated in the most intimate way possible. John craved that from Sherlock, and now he might not get it.

Sherlock murmured in his ear. “We should get out of here before someone finds us. Irene put up a sign before the shoot, but she might have taken it down.”

John nodded wordlessly, and they both concentrated on tucking themselves away and then standing to put their shirts back on. They gathered up their gear and then walked out of the changing room together, still not saying a word. They were halfway across the rugby field when Sherlock finally spoke in quiet tones. “Did you mean what you said earlier? That we can still be friends?”

Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, John nodded. “Of course, Sherlock. Your friendship means the world to me.”

Sherlock worried his lower lip. “Good, that’s good. I didn’t want this to turn into a thing where we _only_ have sex. Not that I’m not looking forward to that, it’s just…I really do enjoy your company, John.”

John stopped in his tracks and looked over at Sherlock, whose expression was vulnerable in a way he’d never seen. “You…you want to have sex with me again?”

Sherlock looked confused, then became wary. “Did…did you want it to be a one time thing? Were you just looking to get rid of your virginity?” 

John stepped up to him and gripped his shoulders. “Sherlock, _you’re_ the one having one night stands all the time, it would have been stupid of me to assume I’d get more than that. Even though I really, _really_ want more.”

Sherlock huffed out a disbelieving laugh, and John was shook to see tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, John. You’re the only person who has ever made me feel… _seen_. I guess I assumed you’d be able to read me like a book.”

John ran his hands down Sherlock’s arms, and then curled his fingers into Sherlock’s. “Oh love, I like to think I can read you _very_ well. I knew you were capable of so much more than what you were showing the world. But I don’t always trust my judgement. Especially with how I’ve been hurt before.”

Sherlock leaned his head down and pressed his forehead to John’s. “I can’t count the number of times I’ve thought of the people you gave your heart to and cursed them for fools. I suppose Molly couldn’t help it. But whoever that bloke was that had you running to the other side of Britain to escape…well, I suppose I should thank him. You’re mine now, and I’m not letting you go.” Sherlock lifted his head so he could gaze into his eyes. “John…I think I might be in love with you. I’ve never felt this way, so I don’t…fully understand it. All I know is that from the moment I met you I can’t stop thinking of you. And I haven’t been able to touch anyone else since. For months now. I’m surprised I didn’t go off like a rocket the moment you touched me. I want things with you that I’ve never wanted with anyone else, except Victor, I suppose. But even what I felt for him pales in comparison to you, John.”

John let out a happy sigh. “Sherlock, hearing you say these things…it means everything to me. I can hardly believe it’s happening.” He leaned up and captured Sherlock’s lips. “You say you want things with me. I want things, too. And I don’t want to scare you, but I feel like we should stop hiding and just lay it all out there. As you said…I _do_ want the friendship as well as sex. But I want even more than that. I want…” John felt a flush of heat travel up his neck. “I want to take you out for a romantic dinner and then make you a fry up the next morning. I want to cuddle as we watch Bond movies. Get a victory kiss from you after my matches. And speaking of rugby, I want to be able to tell the other blokes on the team that whatever they did with you in the past is _in the past_ and I don’t bloody well need to hear any lurid details about my…my boyfriend…ever again.”

Sherlock attempted a put-upon expression that John didn’t quite believe. “Boyfriend, eh? I suppose you’ll also want to arrive at parties together, and leave together.” John nodded. “And I’ll have to endure you posting selfies of us on your Instagram?”

John chuckled. “It’s expected, Sherlock. I think Molly would kick me out of the flat if I didn’t give her cute Instagram stories to gush over.”

Sherlock turned away with a groan and started walking again, tugging John’s hand so he’d walk with him. “Oh God, Molly. She and Irene will be insufferable. You know, Irene figured everything out when she realised I hadn’t had sex in months. She kept hounding me to tell you.” His eyes widened and he turned to look at John. “Bloody hell, it’s because she knew how you felt. Of course, how could I be so stupid! I thought she was stirring the pot.”

John smiled softly. “She did stir the pot. She made us do that bloody video together.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “She knew it would be torture. A hell of our own making. She needs to be punished, John.”

John raised his eyebrows. “For what? Giving us the rope to climb out of that hell? How about flowers or chocolates?”

Sherlock smirked. “I was thinking more along the lines of her being punished by Molly. As a change of pace. I’ve seen Irene’s search history, she’s very keen on a certain fetish shop in Hackney that caters to women. A gift card from there would be most welcome.”

John groaned. “I did not need to know that about those two.”

“Now, now, John, don’t kink shame. You’ve only just begun your sexual journey, who knows what you’ll be into.”

John cleared his throat. “I suppose you’re right, but for now I’m a bit focused on the basics. I can’t stop thinking about you fucking me.”

This time it was Sherlock who stopped in his tracks, whipping around to give him a heated look. “I would have thought you’d want to try fucking me first. Remember what I said about bottoming being a vulnerable position?”

John nodded. “I also remember you deduced I wouldn’t fall for someone I couldn’t trust, and you were right. I trust you completely. Besides, I would be a nervous wreck if I tried to top you. I’d spend the whole time worrying that I’d hurt you and it just wouldn’t be a good time for either of us.”

Sherlock’s smile was tender. “That trust goes both ways, but I get your point. I’m perfectly happy to be the top for now. You’re not the only one who can’t stop thinking about it. Remember the match a few weeks ago when that other player yanked down your shorts and bared your arse to everyone in the stands? You have an outstanding arse, John. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I wanted to do to it.”

John felt his neck flush hot and he knew it wasn’t remembered embarrassment of that moment. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sherlock. If I wasn’t ready to gnaw my arm off from hunger, I’d want to do something about that right now. How about we go get dinner and then you can show me what you had in mind?”

Sherlock gave him a rueful look. “Are you forgetting the fact that you and Molly are hosting a party at your flat tonight?”

John let out a string of curses, each more vehement than the next, and Sherlock doubled over in laughter. John couldn’t exactly skip his own party. Molly would murder him and then offer up his corpse to her anatomy course. “Fine… _fine_ …it’s all fine. But we’re ditching the party early. I’ll just have to promise Molly I’ll do all the cleanup in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of inspiration for this chapter:  
> https://aspiringlandmermaid.tumblr.com/post/169564261844/this-is-what-happens-when-captainkittypaws-and-i


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

John ended up going back to his flat alone to get dinner. Sherlock said he had something to take care of before the party. John had a difficult time saying goodbye to him. He had an irrational fear that the moment Sherlock was out of his sight, it would turn out to be a dream. Sherlock must have known what he was thinking, because he’d gone about a block when he got a text from Sherlock that was a picture of him winking. 

John was too keyed up to eat a proper dinner, so he just had pot noodle and greek yoghurt. Molly saw his agitation and was deeply suspicious. “What happened with Sherlock after we left? I could cut the tension with a knife in that changing room.”

John couldn’t fight the smile that spread across his face. “Yeah, we were both wound pretty tightly. So…we finally did something about it.” He raised his eyebrows significantly.

Molly’s eyes widened. “You had sex?” Her tone indicated surprise, but her eyes were filled with trepidation.

John held up a hand. “Yes, but you don’t have to worry about my heart. We’re together now. Romantically.”

Molly bit her lip. “And you know that how?”

John chuckled. “Because we talked about it. Told each other what we wanted, how we felt.”

Molly’s face brightened and she clapped her hands together. “You talked? That’s fantastic!”

John giggled and shook his head. “You seem happier about the talking than the sex. I lost my virginity, Molly!”

She waved her hand. “Sex is easy. Talking is _hard_. I’m so proud of you, John. And I’m really proud of Sherlock. I have to call Irene!” She leapt for her mobile.

It turned out Irene wasn’t remotely surprised, given that she’d known how both men were feeling. John chuckled fondly as he listened to them chat while he cleared up his dinner. 

John had hoped that prepping for the party would occupy Molly too fully to continue the subject, but it turned out to be the opposite. Molly was quite able to keep up an endless stream of chatter as they set out snacks, booze, rearranged furniture, etc. John was trapped into the whole ordeal by his sense of duty to his flatmate and friend. He wasn’t sure why he was hating this. Usually he loved nothing more than to share such things with her. 

John realised after awhile what it was. Everything was too new and fragile to be talking so much about it. If he had to do it over, he would have kept his mouth shut and waited until things had progressed and solidified before sharing. As it was, John was feeling more and more agitated, alternating between wondering if it was even real and worried that he was going to fuck things up with Sherlock. 

He was glad when he could finally escape to his room to get ready for the party. He lingered in the shower, looking down at his body and marveling that a few short hours ago Sherlock’s hands and mouth had been on him. His cock stiffened as he recalled Sherlock’s lips wrapped around it. He shuddered at the memory and began leisurely stroking himself. It would probably be a good idea to toss one off so he wouldn’t come too quickly later tonight. 

John began to pump his cock in earnest, then realised it was the perfect time to prep himself a bit. He bit back a groan as he massaged his hole with his finger. He’d done this plenty of times in the past, often fantasising that it was Sherlock pushing into him. But now there was purpose to it. He felt light-headed at the thought that soon it would no longer be his imagination. John’s mobile vibrated on the counter by the sink, and the thought that it might be Sherlock texting tipped John over the edge and he came hard, having barely got half his finger inserted. 

John stood in front of his wardrobe for far too long before he caved and went to get Molly. Even knowing it would invite more chatter, he needed her opinion on what to wear. After much hemming and hawing, she decided that Sherlock wouldn’t appreciate anything fancy and would prefer John to look like John. 

They settled on a striped jumper that was a bit nicer than the others. It had a soft, touchable material and was in a shade that brought out the colour of his eyes. She also recommended a pair of jeans that still looked practically new because he hardly ever wore them – the reason being that they were a bit tight. Molly gave him a look when he complained about the snug fit, and when the penny dropped they both giggled hysterically.

*

John felt the air leave his lungs when Sherlock walked into the flat wearing the same outfit he’d had on that first party where they met – midnight blue shirt and black jeans. He smiled to himself at the vast difference in his two reactions. The first time, his appreciation of Sherlock’s beauty had been almost academic. Now he wanted to get him alone, tear off his clothes, and ride him like a prize stallion at a rodeo.

Sherlock caught his eye and came over, immediately reaching out his hand and petting his sleeve. “I like this.” His tone was deep and appreciative and it made John shiver.

“I like what you’re wearing as well. I remember the first time I saw you in it. I figured you were on the pull.” John raised his eyebrows, seeking confirmation.

Sherlock chuckled, his expression rueful. “I was, actually. I was intending to pull _you_.” He bit his lip. “Obviously that didn’t work out well for me.”

John stepped closer. “I thought it showed class that you didn’t even try to get anywhere with me.”

Sherlock snorted. “Don’t go setting the bar too low for me, that was just basic decency.” He straightened his jacket. “Anyway, I figured I’d try again tonight. See if I’m a little more successful.” He gave John a wolfish smile.

John felt a thrill go down his spine as he giggled. “Hmm, well, I guess it depends on your behaviour.”

Sherlock frowned, his nose scrunching up. “Behaviour? What does that mean? Is this a boyfriend thing? What exactly are you wanting me to do?”

John gave him a tender smile and curled his hand into Sherlock’s. “I want you to be yourself. The way that you are when you’re with me. That’s who I fell for and that’s who I want in my bed tonight.”

Sherlock’s cheeks tinged pink and he looked down. “You really do… _like_ me, don’t you?” His voice was a whisper of disbelief.

“God yes,” John breathed.

Molly popped up next to Sherlock just then. “Hello you two. And how are things?” Her smile was full of delight.

Sherlock gritted his teeth in a fake smile. “Things are well, Molly. I am so glad I could make it to your little party here.” His smile widened obscenely. Molly pursed her lips and shook her head. 

Sherlock’s expression morphed into something more genuine and he cleared his throat. “In fact, I have a little something for you. Consider it a hostess gift.” He pulled a small envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. John recognised the logo of the shop Sherlock mentioned earlier. Molly’s eyes widened when she saw it, and she quickly turned beet red. “My only caveat to this gift is that whatever is purchased with the card, _you_ must use on Irene.”

Molly bit her lip. “But she likes to be the one to…” She stopped abruptly and put her hand on her mouth. John wouldn’t have thought it possible for her to turn even redder, but she did.

Sherlock made a tsking noise. “Molly Hooper, surely you’ve heard of switching? And I don’t mean what is done with a flog.”

John wheezed with laughter as Molly clenched her teeth. “Stop. Talking.”

Sherlock’s lips twitched. “She’ll love it, I promise. Especially if you spring it on her.” Molly gave him a considering look, and then tucked the envelope into the back pocket of her jeans and walked off.

John took a deep breath to try and compose himself. “So uh…that was the errand you had to run earlier?” Sherlock nodded. “Thank Christ you didn’t take me. I dunno if I could have handled going into that shop.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Well, I didn’t want you with me because I intended to get something for us too and I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

John’s eyes widened in apprehension. “You got something at a _fetish_ shop for us. For uh…for tonight?”

Sherlock’s eyes sparkled. “I left it at home, John. We’re not ready for that yet. It can keep until we’re more established.”

John found that he liked the idea of that word. _Established_. And it was something that Sherlock wanted, to John’s amazement. Enough to get some mysterious and kinky object for future use. John imagined the idea of them fucking so often that he would be ready for whatever _it_ was. He laughed, giddy with happiness. He grabbed the lapels of Sherlock’s jacket and pulled him in for a kiss, something he’d been dying to do since the moment they parted a few hours ago.

Sherlock growled against his lips and pressed him against the wall, kissing him and kissing him until a wolf whistle that could only be from Irene broke them apart. John adjusted himself in his tight jeans, groaning in frustration. The party had started, in more ways than one.

*

John had just poured himself a scotch and water when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders. It was Greg, and he was steering John towards a small gathering of the rugby lads in one corner of the sitting room. When they arrived, Greg unceremoniously pushed him down into a chair between Bill and Dimmock. “I just heard from Sally that you and Sherlock finally stopped dancing around each other and did the deed.”

John huffed out an embarrassed laugh as every one of his mates whipped their heads around to stare. “Oh come on, why is this a big deal?” Bill raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. “Ugh, fine. Yes, okay.” He wrinkled his nose and felt his face grow hot as everyone clapped and whooped. Other party guests looked over in bemusement. John didn’t see Sherlock.

“Ah Christ, John, why’d you have to go and do that?” John looked up at Greg in surprise. Unlike the others, he looked disappointed. John would have thought if anyone was going to look like that it would be Dimmock. John glanced over, and he seemed envious but not really bothered.

John looked up at Greg and shrugged. “Again, why is this a big deal?” 

Greg’s brow furrowed. “Because it _is_ a big deal. Sherlock is not the type to have friends. He can get along with people when he needs to, but no one who seems to want to spend time with him the way you two have been doing these past months. I was really glad to see someone get over that wall he puts up. And now you’ve gone and ruined it with sex.”

John barked out a laugh, but no one else seemed to think it was funny. Mike was shaking his head. “Greg has a point. Sherlock’s never been friends with any of the blokes he’s slept with. Doesn’t want to lead them on into thinking they’re gonna be in a relationship. It’s only a matter of time before he’ll be holding you at arm’s length.” He tipped his head towards Dimmock as if to prove his point.

John shook his head, smiling. “I see what you’re saying, but there’s nothing to worry about. We’ve past the point of friendship. We’re together.” Greg’s expression turned incredulous, then he groaned and turned away. “No, really. Sherlock is my boyfriend now.”

Greg’s head whipped back around, and Dimmock blurted, “Don’t be absurd!”

Mike frowned. “John, I don’t know what led you to think that, but you know Sherlock doesn’t…feel things that way.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _Sherlock_ was the one who led me to think that. We’ve had the relationship talk and everything.”

Bill gave him a troubled look. “Are you telling me that’s how he finally got you into bed? Sold you a cock and bull story about being boyfriends? Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Greg looked thunderous. “I’ll murder him. Finally got something good in his life and he ruined it! John, I may have known Sherlock longer, but I’ve got your back on this.”

John stared in disbelief at his teammates. Even Dimmock looked sympathetic. He held up his hands in a placating manner, trying to think of what he could say to convince them. When he saw Sherlock coming their way, he didn’t know whether to be relieved at the arrival of reinforcements, or concerned that Sherlock would get punched before he got a word in.

Sherlock came up to John and put his arm around his shoulder. “I don’t know what you all are talking about over here, but John doesn’t look happy and that concerns me.”

Bill stood up. “ _We’re_ the ones concerned that you’re about to break John’s heart.”

Sherlock grinned. “Is this The Talk? The ‘don’t hurt him or we’ll beat you up’ talk? How delightful.”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t seem all that worried by the idea.”

Sherlock waved his hand. “Oh John, the way I see it, if I hurt you I deserve to get beat up. It’s only fair. I’m more apprehensive about the talk you’ll eventually get from my brother. That’s not a threat you want to take lightly.”

John blinked. Sherlock’s told him a little bit about his brother. “Y-you think he knows?”

Sherlock smirked. “That we’re romantically involved? I’m sure from the moment we left the changing room.”

There was a sound like a collective gasp. Greg interjected, “Hang on, it’s true?”

Sherlock stared at him. “Of course it is. Didn’t Sally tell you?”

“Don’t be absurd!” It was Dimmock again. He stood up, his expression hurt. He stared at Sherlock for a few moments and then shook his head. “So when you said you don’t get involved, what you really meant was that you don’t get involved with _me_. Or any of the other blokes you’ve been with. Only John.”

Sherlock lifted his chin, his expression solemn. “Only John.”

Dimmock jerked his shoulder. “Screw this.” He stalked off towards the window that led to the fire escape currently populated with smokers. 

Sherlock pressed his lips together and glared at everyone, then headed towards the kitchen. John looked around at his mates, his eyebrows raised. “Well, then. Look, it’s…heartwarming, how protective you lot are. But you need to take it down a bit. Sherlock and I will be fine.” He slapped Greg on the back and then went after Sherlock.

John found him over by the booze table pouring a G&T. “You know you’re not responsible for Dimmock’s feelings.”

Sherlock took a long gulp of his drink, trying and failing not to wince. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.”

John gave him a rueful smile. “Well, you _are_. Seriously, no one is blaming you for this. They were just saying, before you showed up, that you keep people at arms length. This is on Dimmock. And I feel sorry for him, but the bottom line is that he knew what he was getting into.”

Sherlock stared hard at the floor as if he could gouge a hole in it to escape. “I didn’t…I wanted to avoid what happened between me and Victor Trevor.”

John gently set his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Here’s the thing, love. You can do all the right things and still hurt people.”

Sherlock jerked his head to look at John. “What if I hurt you?”

John slid his hand up from Sherlock’s shoulder to his cheek. “What if I hurt _you_? All we can promise is that we try not to.”

Sherlock worried his lower lip. “My brother says caring is not an advantage.”

John huffed out a sigh. “And he’s right. The question is whether an _advantage_ is more important than caring. I know my answer to that.”

Sherlock lowered his head, pressing his forehead against John’s. “I am so ill equipped for this. Physical intimacy I understand. I know that when I take you to bed tonight, I will make you feel so, so good. What I don’t know is how to make you happy.”

John tilted his head, pressing his lips to Sherlock’s. He leaned back to look up into Sherlock’s lovely eyes. Rubbing his hand up and down Sherlock’s arm, he whispered, “Love, you’ve been making me happy for months now. Ever since we met…no…since before we met, you’ve been putting a smile on my face. Just keep being yourself. Don’t forget, I know fuck all about relationships, too. We’ll figure it out together.”

Sherlock gave him a smile that tried to be subdued, but the way his lips pursed into a v-shape telegraphed the emotions he was suppressing. John pulled him into a quick, hard hug, and then he stepped back and took Sherlock’s hand. “Come on, let’s do one more round of folks at the party, and then I’m taking you back into my bedroom and locking the door.” 

He turned to step out of the kitchen, but then the import of his words sunk in. Quite soon he was going to be penetrated for the first time in his life by the gorgeous man next to him. As much as he wanted that, it was quite a significant thing to have happen to one’s body. He spun back and added more scotch to his cup as fortification. 

When they got back to the sitting room, Sherlock was immediately snagged by Irene, who wanted to set up a time they could work on editing her video. She was nervous about getting it just right and knew Sherlock had a good eye for this sort of thing. John looked around and found Molly, heading her way to offer cleaning duties in the morning. 

He was passing by the window to the fire escape and saw Dimmock heavily making out with one of the male ballet dancers from the recital. John snorted to himself. Well, that was sorted. Now that he thought about it, he’d never seen Dimmock with anyone else in the time he’s been here. All the other blokes on the team that had been shagged by Sherlock never seemed to have a lack of dates. Perhaps Dimmock had been holding out hope, and this latest development was what he needed to move on.

John found Molly and chatted with her for a bit, warning her that he would be disappearing soon. He drank his scotch and felt it settle into his blood, transforming his anxiety into anticipation. After awhile, Sherlock appeared next to Molly. “Well, Hooper, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend here?” When she gave him a bewildered look, he turned to John and held out his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Sherlock Holmes.”

John’s lips curved into a smile as he caught on. He took Sherlock’s hand. “I’m John Watson.”

Sherlock nodded slowly. “Yes, I know. The new Captain of the rugby team. I was there at the first match. You’re _very_ good.” He gave John a wicked smile.

Having caught on, Molly rolled her eyes and then melted away into the crowd. John cleared his throat. “I know about you as well. I’ve seen your Instagram. The science of deduction. You like to deduce things. You say you can tell a software engineering major by his tie, or some such.” He gave him a comical expression of disbelief.

Sherlock chuckled. “Well, I’ve deduced that you are bisexual. _And_ demisexual. You’re only attracted to someone you’ve fallen in love with. I could tell by the way you looked at me. Like you were admiring a work of art, but not one that you wanted to fuck.”

John erupted into laughter, bending over in an effort to contain it. “And what do you deduce about me at this moment?”

Sherlock’s smile twisted a little. “Somehow, despite having come to know me very well, you want to have sex with me. I still can’t quite grasp it.” He looked away and took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and when he looked back at John, his expression had changed subtly. His eyes were glinting with a light that made John shiver. “As I understand it, your room is just along that corridor.” His eyes flicked to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. John had to bite his lip to keep from laughing again, because Sherlock had been back there many times. 

“Yes, as a matter of fact. It’s quite comfortable, a nice cosy space. You interested in seeing it?”

Sherlock raised one eyebrow and then leaned in to brush his lips against John’s ear as he murmured, “Lead the way. _Captain_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, I gave Dimmock the Duckie treatment, a la Pretty In Pink.


	9. Chapter 9

John sucked in a sharp breath and gave Sherlock a heated look, setting his empty cup on a nearby bookshelf before taking Sherlock’s hand and leading him back to his bedroom. As per his agreement with Molly, the music that had been playing in the background was subtly turned up quite a bit more than before. By the time Sherlock and John entered the bedroom, the volume was perfect to mask whatever they got up to…if they weren’t too loud about it. No guarantees.

John locked the door and then turned to Sherlock. “So, as much as I appreciated the role playing, what brought it on?”

Sherlock huffed out a laugh. “Christ, you really are able to read me well.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I’m used to sex being a game. But after what happened this afternoon…I know it’s not anymore. And it’s left me feeling wrong-footed. I guess I hoped I could restore a little confidence if I went through the same motions, like it was a typical hook up.” He winced. “Bloody hell, John. That was a stupid thing to do, wasn’t it? You’re _not_ a hook up, you’re so much more, I shouldn’t treat you like…”

John held up his hands and made gentle shushing noises. “Sherlock, no no no, don’t overthink it, love. I enjoyed it, honestly. I know it’s not really a game. I know how you feel. And I know this is difficult for you.” He stepped up to Sherlock, pressing his hand to his chest. “I fully believe what you’ve told me, that you know how to make me feel good. So just concentrate on that.” 

Sherlock looked like he wasn’t so sure of his abilities. John realised the only way he was going to shut down that big brain of his was to short circuit it. He stretched up his arms, reaching back to pull off his shirt and toss it on the floor. The action mussed his hair, so he slowly ran his fingers through his locks to straighten it, then allowed his hand to trail down his neck, chest, abdomen, until it rested on the waistband of his jeans. 

Sherlock’s eyes followed his progress, darkening as John’s fingers teased at the button to his jeans. His nostrils flared when John deftly pulled the button out of the loop and then moved his hand down to grasp the zipper pull. But he went no further, waiting. Sherlock’s eyes came up to gaze at him in question, and John flicked his own eyes to Sherlock’s shirt, the buttons of which were straining to keep in place. 

Sherlock brought his hands up and began to slowly undo the buttons, putting them out of their misery. His chest heaved, and John felt like his own breathing was in perfect sync. More and more of Sherlock’s torso was revealed, and John was just as greedy to see it as he had been mere hours ago in the changing room. 

When Sherlock’s shirt was off and tossed over a chair, he stepped towards John. John decided to continue teasing him, as it seemed to be working so far. He stepped out of Sherlock’s reach, inching back towards the bed, working the zipper of his jeans down as he did so. John bit his lip, gazing mischievously at Sherlock. Sherlock stared back at him, his eyes gleaming his approval. 

When the fly was all the way down and John was next to the bed, he turned and slowly peeled the jeans down over his arse. He was quite relieved to be freed from the tight confines. He bent and removed them entirely, glancing over his shoulder at Sherlock, who was watching him in reverence. John climbed up onto the bed, crawling slowly up to his pillow and then reclined, stretching himself out onto his stomach. He looked over his shoulder again and raised an eyebrow. 

Giving him a smile that was both grateful and lascivious, Sherlock efficiently rid himself of his own snugly fitting jeans. Left in just a pair of boxer briefs, which did nothing to hide his straining erection, Sherlock followed him onto the bed. He began a trail of kisses from John’s calf up his leg. Pausing to nip at John’s arse through his briefs, he continued the kisses up his back and shoulder, nuzzling into the nape of his neck before giving him a nip there as well.

Sherlock draped himself over John’s body, kissing and nuzzling at his ear and cheek as his hips ground into John’s arse. John’s breath turned ragged as he felt Sherlock’s erection pressing against him through the two flimsy layers of their pants. “ _Sherlock_.”

Sherlock moved off him, and John whimpered at the loss of contact. Sherlock gently turned John over so that he was on his back, and then his body was pressing into him again. “John,” he groaned as he lowered his head for a kiss. John wound his arms around Sherlock’s neck as they kissed and kissed. Sherlock’s hands roamed up and down John’s torso, detouring occasionally to reach down to massage his arse. 

Somehow the feeling of Sherlock’s weight on him was more erotic than when they’d been sitting flush against each other earlier in the afternoon. The heat of Sherlock’s body was more evident, the velvet skin of his torso sliding against John’s making his adrenaline soar. Then there was the sensation of Sherlock’s cock rubbing against his every time he moved his hips. This was already so much better than what they did earlier. 

Sherlock licked into his mouth, devouring him with his tongue. John gave it back, dragging his teeth against Sherlock’s lower lip that he’s been obsessing about for weeks. There had been so many times when he couldn’t focus on what Sherlock said to him because of that goddamn mouth of his, and now he was finally able to suck and bite and worship it.

Sherlock lifted his head and gazed down at him with darkened, intent eyes. John reached up and threaded his fingers through the glorious mess of curls, tugging him back down for more kissing. He lifted a leg and curved it across Sherlock’s backside, encouraging him to continue the small thrusts that were driving him crazy. 

John felt like he was on fire. Sherlock shifted down slightly so he could press kisses down John’s jaw, then neck, then across his clavicle. Sherlock’s lips felt like flames licking at his skin. When he reached John’s nipple, his tongue was a hot brand. The scraping of his teeth was as a match being struck. Soon John was feeling so sensitised that the fabric of their pants became an irritant on his skin.

“Sherlock,” he moaned, “I need to feel you, all of you.” Sherlock understood, lifting up slightly to tug off his pants. John scrambled to get his own off, and after some awkward fumbling and kicking, they were finally completely nude. Sherlock’s weight came back down on top of him and it was the most glorious feeling in the world. 

The music playing in the next room had a throbbing beat, and John’s pulse raced along with it. Every ounce of blood seemed to pump straight from his heart down to the erection between his legs. When Sherlock’s hand reached down and wrapped around his cock, John sucked in his breath and he felt slightly concerned he was going to come before Sherlock got anywhere near his arse. 

John put his hand over Sherlock’s to still it. “Please, I don’t want this to be over yet. I need you inside me,” he gasped, and Sherlock shuddered as if feeling the words ripple through his whole body.

“Turn over,” he growled in a tone that was almost subsonic. John scrambled to obey, flipping so that he was on his stomach again. Sherlock straddled him, his cock resting on the cleft of his arse, and John started to pant in anticipation. Sherlock bent over him, his lips to John’s ear. “I’m going to do something that may offend your medical sensibilities, but you have to trust me that you’ll love it if you just relax. Alright?” John wondered what he could possibly be up to, but he nodded. He did trust Sherlock. 

Sherlock ran his fingers through John’s hair, massaging his scalp and pressing kisses to his neck and shoulders. “You’re so gorgeous, John. So perfect.” He began kissing down John’s back, a reversal of earlier when he first came onto the bed. More slowly this time, kissing and occasionally licking. When he got to John’s arse, he was practically purring. “I’ve been thinking about your arse, John. So, so much. If I were sentenced to death, I’d want this to be my last meal.” As he said this, he was massaging each cheek in turn, kissing and licking and giving little nips. 

John wasn’t sure what Sherlock meant by meal, until suddenly he _knew_. Before he could process that he was about to be rimmed, Sherlock’s tongue was on his hole. John slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his startled shout. Sherlock was right, the part of him that wanted to be a doctor was offended by how unsanitary this was. But he was also right that it felt _amazing_. John kept his hand over his mouth as he keened, his thighs straining with the effort to keep still as Sherlock worked him open with his tongue. 

John must have been in a dazed state, because he barely registered being turned over again. It was the sharp sound of the lube cap being opened that had him blinking into awareness. Sherlock had found the bottle he’d set on the bedside table. He watched as Sherlock coated his fingers. Sherlock gave him an affectionate smile. “As much as I enjoy rimming, I don’t feel it quite does the job. Certainly not for someone who has never been penetrated before.” John was about to correct him, but Sherlock shook his head. “Your own fingers don’t count. I’d say this is quite a bit larger, don’t you think?” He took hold of his cock, stroking it, and John whimpered in need.

“Just….do what you have to do, but quickly, _please_. I want _that_ in me.”

Sherlock chuckled darkly and shifted down, kissing up John’s thigh as he teased at John’s opening with his lubed up finger. He nosed at John’s balls as he began massaging, and then licked a stripe up his cock to the tip. John’s head fell back as he groaned, and that was when he felt the initial sting of Sherlock’s finger breeching him. John felt a different kind of sting at the back of his eyes as he felt overcome that this was _finally_ happening. 

Sherlock continued treating John’s erection like it was a lolly as he slowly worked him open. It was a heady mixture of pleasure and pain. After what felt like an interminable amount of time, Sherlock shifted back up and lay beside John, giving him a tender kiss. He leisurely stroked John’s cock as he whispered, “Decision time, John. I can wear a condom, which would be less messy. Or we can go without, since I was tested last week.”

John trembled in anticipation. “No condom.”

Sherlock nodded. “It’s been quite awhile since I’ve gone without, I hope I last.” He kissed John’s cheek. “Okay, what position? If you straddle me on top, you’ll be in control.”

John shook his head, squirming from the emptiness he’d been feeling since Sherlock removed his fingers. “I told you I trust you. I need you to be facing me, I need…God, Sherlock, I just need you.”

Sherlock let go of his cock to stroke his hand up John’s flank. “You have me, John. I’m here. I promise I’ll make it good for you.” He maneuvered over John until he was resting between his thighs, grabbing the bottle of lube and applying a generous amount to his cock. He lowered his hips, sliding his cock along John’s. “Fuck, I can’t believe this is happening. This is so different, John. It’s nothing like with anyone else. I feel like…” He shook his head as if he couldn’t put it into words.

John’s voice was shaky as he replied, “It feels as if every nerve ending in my body is sparking, hot and cold at the same time. My heart is pounding, and it’s saying with every beat that this is right, this is good, this is _us_.”

Sherlock stared at him, and his eyes were shining. John realised he was on the verge of tears. “That’s exactly it, John.” He leaned down and captured John’s lips in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. John felt Sherlock’s cock shift and then it was right there at the entrance to his body. And then it was _inside_. John sucked in a sharp breath, grateful that Sherlock stopped at that point. He needed to adjust, and he breathed in and out through his nose as he waited out the odd feeling of discomfort. 

After a few moments, when he felt John relax, Sherlock eased in some more. He slid in and out slowly, going farther with each gentle thrust. By the time he was fully seated, they were both panting, the sound filling the dark room and drowning out the sound of the thumping music. Sherlock was wonderfully patient, whispering soft words and stroking his arms, his thighs, his cheek. “I love you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock croaked into his shoulder, “I love you, too, John. I know that now. No one's ever made me feel this way.” 

John gripped Sherlock’s arms tightly, overwhelmed by his declaration and by the novel sensation of being filled. “Oh god, Sherlock. This feels amazing, but…I need…”

Sherlock kissed his neck as he moved his hips back slightly and then pressed forward. John gusted out a breath at the exquisite friction. Sherlock repeated the action, over and over, his pace slow as he got John used to the sensation. John wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s hips. 

John tried to control the breathy moans that escaped every time Sherlock’s hips snapped forward, but it became more and more difficult as Sherlock increased his pace. When Sherlock shifted the angle of his thrust, John made a high-pitched sound at the sudden sensation of his prostate being brushed. “Fuck, John, I love the sounds you make.” He panted as he continued to thrust at the same angle and John felt like he was being driven out of his mind. “I don’t think I can…nghhh….last much longer,” Sherlock groaned.

“God, I’m close, too.” John whined as Sherlock’s thrusts became harder, more unsteady. John reached up and grasped the headboard to hold himself in place. Sherlock fumbled for the lube and managed to flip open the cap and squirt some out with one hand. He dropped it and brought his hand down to John’s cock and began to stroke it.

“Oh fuck! Oh, Jesus Sherlock, oh Christ!” John felt like he was coming apart at the seams, his whole body trembling as tension built up in waves. Sherlock was making high, breathy sounds as his thrusts grew more and more ragged. 

They were both slick with sweat, and John had never felt more alive as Sherlock kissed him one last time, a messy sliding of lips together as John finally tipped over the edge, his orgasm wringing a groan from him that must have sounded obscene if anyone else heard it. Sherlock whined as John’s muscles contracted around him, and then he was coming too. John could feel Sherlock spilling into him and his own cock gave another twitch at the sensation. “John,” Sherlock breathed into his ear, his voice wrecked. 

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck. “Sherlock.” 

They stayed that way for a few minutes, holding each other tightly as their breathing slowed and the sweat cooled against their skin. John wanted to stay in that intimate moment forever, but the reality of it was that Sherlock was heavy and the stickiness wasn’t as easily ignored as it had been earlier. 

Reading his mind, Sherlock groaned and rolled off John. He took John’s hand and squeezed it for a few seconds before sitting up. Giving John a rueful smile, he said, “I think we should have gone with the condom. Now we have a mess to clean up, and the tools to do that are in the hall bathroom.”

John burst into giggles. “It’s fine, I’ll just grab my robe.” 

He started to sit up, but Sherlock pushed him back down. “Don’t be absurd, John. I’m the top, it’s my responsibility.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Really? There’s such a thing as top etiquette?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I have no idea, I thought it would sound less sentimental than the truth.” He leaned down and gently kissed John. “I just want to take care of you, and spare you from the idiots out there.” He stood up and fetched John’s robe from the hook by the door. It was a short robe and barely covered the lanky git’s arse. “Wish me luck,” he said with a wink as he opened the door. 

The blast of music was a shock, but quickly muffled again when Sherlock shut the door. John thought he heard a cheer, and the door to the bathroom open and shut. There was the faint groan of the pipes as John imagined Sherlock was running the hot tap to wet a flannel. The bathroom door opened and closed again, and this time there was a distinct wolf whistle as the bedroom door opened and Sherlock appeared. He had a damp flannel in one hand, and with the other he made a rude gesture at someone out of view before firmly shutting the door.

He leaned against the door, giggling, and John started giggling too. “Well, that was ridiculous,” Sherlock said as he came over to the bed.

“As ridiculous as starring in a Grease video?” They both dissolved into giggles again, which died down as Sherlock began to clean the splatters that John had made on his stomach and then the oozing mess between his legs. For the first time, John noticed that Sherlock had a towel draped over one shoulder, which he used to spread over the wet spot on the sheets. 

Sherlock removed the robe, and John felt butterflies at seeing his naked body, all alabaster skin stretched over muscle. Sherlock climbed into bed and snuggled up against John, pulling him into his arms. John tucked his head onto Sherlock’s shoulder and heaved a sigh of contentment. “I will never forget this day as long as I live. The way that you’ve made me feel, it will be ingrained in me forever.”

Sherlock kissed the top of his head. “The sex was that good, eh?”

John chuckled. “It was…fantastic, brilliant, amazing…truly it was. But it pales in comparison to you telling me you love me. Does that make me a sap?”

Sherlock made a rumbling noise. “If it does, that means we’re both saps. I’ve had sex many times, John. With many people. Really _good_ sex. But none of it has ever come close to hearing those words from you. I’d have been shocked to hear them from anyone. But the fact that they came from you, John. You’re the only one that matters.”

John tilted his head back to look up at Sherlock, and was met with a kiss. “Will you stay here with me, tonight?”

Sherlock gave him a pleased smile. “You want help cleaning up in the morning, eh?”

“I’ve seen that tip you call a flat, I’m not holding my breath on that score.”

Sherlock huffed in mock outrage, which quickly melted into contentment as John snuggled even closer. “Goodnight, John.”

“Mmm. Night, love.”

*

John slowly came awake, yawning so hard it felt like his face was cracking open. He felt exhausted. He didn’t get a very restful night’s sleep. He kept waking up startled that someone was in the bed with him. Whenever his foggy brain figured out it was Sherlock, it would give him an adrenaline kick recalling the night before and it was a while before he could get back to sleep. 

John forced himself to crawl out of bed to go brush his teeth and piss. He rummaged and found a spare toothbrush and set it out for Sherlock. When he came back into the room, Sherlock was climbing out of bed. John gave him a quick kiss on the forehead before taking his place in bed as Sherlock took his turn in the bathroom. 

When he came back, he crept in next to John and proceeded to wind his arms and legs around him like an octopus. John giggled and leaned in for a kiss, loving the mingling of their minty fresh mouths. After a few minutes of kissing, Sherlock gave him a considering look. “Weren’t you saying yesterday that one of the things you wanted out of our relationship was to cook me a fry up the morning after?”

John chuckled. “I did indeed, and I’m more than a little surprised that you would bring it up. You tend to reject all offers of food.” Sherlock looked down at the blanket, his cheeks growing red as he fidgeted with the edge of it. John tilted his head. “You like the idea of me doting on you, is that it?”

Sherlock huffed, his cheeks getting even redder. “Well, isn’t that your job as my boyfriend? To feed me up?”

John grinned and leaned over to give Sherlock a soft kiss. “It absolutely is. One English breakfast, coming right up.” 

He threw back the covers and started to get out of bed, but Sherlock’s hand on his arm made him pause. Sherlock bit his lip. “Do you think you could wait until after to make breakfast?”

John gave him a quizzical look. “After what?”

Sherlock was back to fidgeting with the blanket. “I’d like to…you know.”

John folded his arms, starting to get a sneaking suspicion. “Use your words, Sherlock.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gritted out, “Make. Love.”

John beamed at him. “Wow, those are two very good words. I’d say they were my favourites, right after ‘Sherlock.’”

Sherlock groaned and slid down under the duvet, pulling it over his head. Clearly he was embarrassed by all the sentimentality. John dived under the covers after him. In the dim light he could see Sherlock had his eyes shut and his face scrunched up. John giggled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I agree, breakfast can wait. I know of something else I want to devour first.”

Sherlock pried open one eye to regard him. “What’s that?”

John waggled his eyebrows and looked pointedly down at Sherlock’s cock, licking his lips. He kissed Sherlock’s cheek again. “You just sit back and relax. Last night you did a thorough job of taking care of me. This morning it’s my turn to worship you, love.”

Sherlock blinked rapidly and he drew in a shaky breath. “You’re a dream come true, John Watson. No…it’s more than that. The dream had died, and you brought it back to life.”

John ran his hand up and down Sherlock’s thigh. “And you are a gift. The wonderful kind that is both wholly unexpected and something that I never thought I desperately needed until it was in front of me.”

Sherlock gazed at him in wonder. “You _love_ me.”

John huffed out a laugh. “You love _me_ ,” he marveled.

Sherlock suddenly tackled him, pressing their lips together in a kiss burning with emotion. John circled his arms around Sherlock’s torso in a fierce hug, holding him tightly. He decided blowjobs and breakfast could wait as they cherished this absolutely perfect moment together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some visuals for this chapter:  
> https://practicefortheheart.tumblr.com/post/89197155864/i-just-had-so-many-feels-3  
> https://willietheplaidjacket.tumblr.com/post/173261365472/a-bit-of-unilock-johnlock-for-babynovak05s-kind
> 
> As a bonus, here’s a video that was shared with me, of two ballet dancers that look an awful lot like John and Sherlock. Lovely dance and lovely song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=3514&v=SM8j1FDtn_0&feature=emb_logo
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! My tumblr is sherlock-nanowrimo and my twitter is @jadziastone.


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